


Injustice: Vox Machina

by MapleCFreter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, I am incredibly dramatic and I am writing this fic for the aesthetic you have been warned, Meta, Vox Machina as villains AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleCFreter/pseuds/MapleCFreter
Summary: Campaigns collide as the new party finds themselves pulled into a dark alternate reality where Exandria is ruled by an evil, and seemingly godlike, version of Vox Machina.





	1. A Bad Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> So I should be prepping for my own D&D capaign because I am an obsessive overplanner and my party is thirsty for that good, good content, but this is happening instead, apparently.
> 
> Yes, this is slightly inspired by the video game Injustice: Gods Among Us, which I have not played. However, I watched all the cutscenes... and also this is very different

Mollymauk ran on intuition. He’d learned to trust his gut, learned to trust the lost part of himself that seemed to know so much more than he did. And there was something about this forest that sent chills up his spine. He was unsure if the others felt it, was unsure if he should warn them, being unable to articulate exactly what it was he knew.

Forests usually oozed life, but this one smelled of death. The plant creatures they’d fought earlier: “blights,” spoke of corrupted blood having watered this soil. Still, they pushed on through the wilds of Wildmount, and Molly did not resist, for whatever beast, or fiend, or corruption that lay in the heart of this forest had to be dealt with.

“Look!” Nott’s shrill voice pierced the night. “Up ahead!”

And soon enough they could all see it, stepping forth into an overgrown clearing. A massive, crumbling manor greeted them, looking as if it had been abandoned for decades.

“I wonder who lived here?” Jester asked, doing a little hop as if nothing excited her more than exploring this terrible, terrible place.

“No one good,” Molly answered without thinking.

His bad feeling had increased to the point where it was like someone screaming in his head. On a nearby tree, a raven crowed, and Caleb jumped in surprise, reaching instinctually for Nott.

“Easy…” Fjord purred. “I don’t like it either, but we agreed to find what it is that’s poisoning this here forest, and something tells me the answer is in there.”

So they entered through doors hanging off hinges, moving slowly for fear the ceiling would come down on top of them. Beauregard took the lead, knowing her reflexes were the best of the group. This entire place gave her the creeps, and she really wished Yasha hadn’t taken off again right before they’d agreed to take this job. The whole party seemed off, Mollymauk being the worst of them. The obnoxious purple tiefling sported a thousand-yard stare.

If Beau had to give a name to the aesthetic of the manor’s previous owners she’d call it “Gothic Sheik.” Sure there was a dead thing floating in a jar but it had a frill on it so it was stylish.

“What do you think happened to the owners?” she mused. “Do you think they died? We could find a body.”

“Now, wouldn’t that be exciting,” Fjord said, sarcastically.

“Totally!” Jester agreed, much less sarcastically.   

Through a large, arched door they entered a high-ceilinged study. On the wall facing them was a massive painting so faded and covered in dust that its subjects could barely be discerned. It depicted a man and woman, severe but beautiful, dressed in the clothes of the aristocracy.

Nott was the one to move towards it, cautiously, tensed as if expecting an attack.

“Are you alright Molly?” Caleb asked, softly.

The closest to the door, the tiefling buried his face in a clawed hand. “Yes, yes… It’s just this bloody headache’s come out of nowhere.”

At the base of the ornate, golden frame, Nott swept her hand across a dust covered plaque.

“Silas and Delilah Briarwood,” she said. “I suppose they owned this place.”

“I think we should leave,” Molly said, abruptly. “I have a very, very bad feeling about this.”

“Seconded,” said Caleb. “I do not think we are supposed to be here.”

“Now hold on a—” Fjord didn’t get to finish.

Blue energy erupted from the center of the room. The furthest away, only Caleb, Molly, and Nott were able to stay on their feet as a shock wave exploded outwards. The air smelled like ozone and burning fabric, and a woman collapsed to the floor at the origin of the explosion. The energy did not dissipate, crawling up the walls and ceiling, crackling over their clothes.

The woman was within arms reach of Fjord who pushed himself into a kneeling position. Gently, he turned her over, revealing a middle-aged human with black hair punctuated by streaks of white. Her lips were wet with blood and she gasped for every breath. In her hand, she clutched something made of green glass.

Pulling her into his lap, Fjord examined her wounds. Small puncture marks pierced her torso.

“I’ll be,” he said, as the others approached, getting to their feet. “I’ve only ever seen one once in my life but I think these are from a gun.”

The woman let out a choked sound that may have been a laugh. “You’re not what I expected,” she rasped, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to do.”

“Do for what?” Beau demanded.

“Saving the world,” came the muted answer. “I need you… I need you to destroy what I created. Fix…”

She trailed off, eyes sliding closed.

“Hey! Hey!” Fjord shook her. “Jester!”

The blue tiefling dropped to her knees, pressing her hands to the woman’s chest.

“What are you talking about?” Fjord asked. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name… is Doctor Anna Ripley. And sadly, I don’t have enough time left to explain.” Her eyes flickered to Jester, as the divine energy began to pool in her palms. “I wouldn’t waste a spell on me, darling.” 

From across the room, Molly’s eyes met hers. Grabbing Caleb by the shoulder he tried to move them towards the door. They didn’t get far. She smiled at him, then brought the green glass to her chest, clutching it with both hands. Then, she exploded, her body ripped apart by a surge of blue energy larger than the last.

Before they blacked out they all heard Anna Ripley’s last words hanging in the air.

“Good luck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update as of 04/13/2018:** I wrote this before I knew how far Percy's guns had managed to spread (poor guy.) Things aren't too different. A few of them know what guns are but they didn't see them together as a party. Just assume Percy's attempt to eradicate his creations went just a _little_ bit better in my version of the good universe.


	2. Guns and Airships

When Jester opened her eyes, the first things she saw was an airship. Great beams of light shone off its bow, cutting through the gloom of the cloudy evening. She was lying on her back, she realized, and it was cold.

“Fjord?” she called, pulling her shawl tighter and attempting to get her bearings. “Beau? Where the hell is everyone? And where the hell am I?”

It appeared she was in some sort of city. The buildings were tall, made of metal and white stone. She lay in a plaza, in the center of which loomed a large obelisk of dark green glass. There was something encased inside, like a fly in amber, but even with her dark vision she couldn’t make out what. Little bits of the blue energy danced up the sides, dissipating into the air.

The air ship was close, hovering so it almost scraped the tops of the building. She heard shouts and people, moving closer.

“Oh no,” Jester said aloud. “Do you know what’s going on, Traveller? Because I’m not sure I like this.”

Getting to her feat, she shrunk back into the shadows of the nearest building. Just in time, because guards poured into the square from the other side. They wore dark blue cloaks over their armour, brandishing weapons Jester did not recognize. They were tubes about the length of an arm made of some sort of metal. Ropes dropped down from the airship above, and in the distance she saw the hulking shadow of what could only be a second one.

Jester decided it was time for her to move. Darting into the closest alley she kept low, dodging from one garbage pile to the next. She needed to find the others. Had the blue energy brought them here as well, or was she alone?

She moved through the city not entirely sure where she was going, just trying to get as far away from that central plaza as possible. The streets were crawling with soldiers. They all carried that foreign weapon and Jester couldn’t help but think of Fjord’s comment about Anna Ripley’s wounds. She’d gotten a look at them as she’d attempted to heal; small but deep, and she’d known they’d hit internal organs. It was a miracle the woman had managed to give as much cryptic information as she had before she blew herself up.

A few times they passed so uncomfortably close to her hiding place that she noted a symbol they all wore on their armour. It was something like a sun, or maybe a star, embroidered with silver thread. She also managed to pick up a piece or two of hurried dialogue.

_“—have to find her—"_

_“—can’t believe it—”_

_“What’ll he do if she gets away—don’t want to think about it—”_

The buildings here were shorter and Jester could see mountains, looming over the city, and among them a castle. Towering spires punctured the clouds, an airship docked at one of them. It occurred to Jester she had been moving in the wrong direction. That was not a place one wanted to get closer to. From several chimneys within the city, black smoke billowed, joining the layer of smog that hung over it all. And from the center of the castle, the largest chimney of all shrouded the imposing building in black vapour.

From down the street Jester heard a slow, repetitive clanking. Clutching her holy symbol, she drew back into a doorway, praying the shadow would be enough to conceal her. Something came into view, a hulking shape made of clockwork. As it drew closer she realized it was an animatronic bear. It was a fascinating thing, and Jester could not help but stare, feeling a momentary thrill of excitement. It was the size of a grizzly, made of grey metal, its eyes empty, soulless sockets. To her horror, it turned to _look_ at her, the gears in its neck clicking.

“Good robo-bear,” she whispered, taking a tentative step out of the doorway. “I’m just going to… you know… go that way. Hey, you’re actually pretty cute.”

For a moment it cocked its head, appearing as if it was going to let her go. Then, it jumped at her, open mouth revealing rows of sharp metal teeth. It did not growl, silent except for the clicking of the clockwork. Jester tried to dodge but was too slow. Teeth sunk into her arm and she let out a cry of pain. Blood dripped down onto the frills of her dress, but she felt as if it had done less damage than it could have. It was holding her in place, pulling her further into the street.

Jester began to summon a sacred flame. Maybe if she blasted its face in she could escape. But she faltered as another animatronic bear rounded the corner, followed by a wall of soldiers. There was no way she was fighting her way out of this one.

“Hello,” she called, giving a little wave with her un-mangled arm, “could you potentially get this thing off of me? It hurts a little.”

The wall of gun barrels facing her said, more than words could, that she was absolutely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> retweet for more TrinketBot5000


	3. Bad Swords

What was this terrible place, Fjord wondered. It was certainly nowhere he had ever been; cold, smog-covered, and filled with gun-toting soldiers. He hadn’t known there were even this many guns in the whole world. Deadly weapons detested by their creator, he only knew of them through this travels as a sailor, as he knew of many things.

He was about to give up in his search for the others and head for the edge of the city when he heard it: a shrill cry of pain. It was faint, echoing from streets away, but still he was sure. It was Jester. Worry and adrenaline surged through him as he abandoned any attempts at stealth and took off running in that direction. His hand found his falchion as he skidded around the corner, faltering as he saw a figure so large it blocked the entire alley.

“Jester?” he called, but the blue tiefling was not here.

The goliath turned slowly to face him, and for a moment time seemed to stop. He was huge, towering over Fjord’s not unimpressive height. In one hand he wielded a massive black sword, jagged and gleaming a little, like maybe there was blood on the blade that had not yet dried. Maybe it was because Fjord was familiar with swords which were more than they appeared but there was something about this one that sent chills up his spine. So entranced by the blade, for a moment Fjord had forgotten about the one wielding it.

“Well, what do we have here?” came the booming voice.

Hefting the sword effortlessly, the goliath took a step closer. A crooked grin was barely visible through a thick beard. His bare chest was a patchwork of scars, some more healed than others. Around his neck he sported a menagerie of gruesome trophies: a shrivelled human finger, the ear of some sort of harry animal, and nearly countless others, the centerpiece what could only be a dragon’s tooth.

Frozen, Fjord did not immediately respond, so the goliath continued. “Out after curfew, carrying a nice sword like that… and I thought tonight was going to be boring. Percy wasn’t going to let me have Ripley, and Craven Edge is start’en to get hungry.”

Fjord knew, without question, that he was referring to the sword.

“I don’t want any trouble.” Fjord held up his free hand in a gesture of placation. “I’m just a little lost is all. Don’t want to fight… just looking for my friend.”

The familiar pattern of barnacles on the falchion’s handle was a comfort under Fjord’s grip, but still he moved to sheath it in its dimension. A twinge of magic ran up his arm, indicating that perhaps it did not agree with this course of action. But the falchion did not have eyes and Fjord did not wish for any of his body parts to end up on a necklace. He was smart enough to know fighting was not an option.

“You sure you want to do that?” the goliath asked. “Fight’ll be less fun that way.”

Fjord took a few steps back. Maybe if he kept his distance, flung spells from out of reach… The goliath was grinning now, the smell of blood wafting off his blade.

“You’re looking for Anna Ripley, right?” Fjord attempted. “I saw her. I know what happened to her.”

This got a reaction, the sword, Craven Edge, lowering slightly. “Would have been better for you if you hadn’t said that, believe me. I kill fast. Would’ve cleaved you right in half. One swing!”

To demonstrate he lunged forward, blade slicing through the air. Fjord flinched back, the tip of Craven Edge coming less than a foot from him.

“Alright…” The goliath’s shoulders slumped, clearly disappointed. “We better go see Percy. Don’t want him mad at me.”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the meaty hand reached for him, and from over Fjord’s shoulder a streak of light flew into view. Then, behind the goliath, it exploded. A ball of fire engulfed the hulking form and a hand closed around Fjord’s wrist, pulling him backwards away from the heat.

In his ear, a smooth, accented voice hissed, “run, run. We’ve got to run.”

So he did, his head a mess of swirling pieces of information and adrenaline. Everything was blurring colours and his feet against the ground, his hooded saviour leading him through the streets.

_Percy._

Percy… The goliath had said the name twice. Guns. Dragon tooth. Percy! Percival de Rolo. Goliath.

_Grog._

That’s who that had been. He knew that with certainty, could feel it in his bones. The legendary heroes.   

_Vox Machina._

And as the pieces fit together everything made even less sense than it had before.

His saviour was a man of some humanoid race. A little shorter than Fjord, he was dark skinned, a well-groomed beard poking out from under his grey hood. He peered back over his shoulder, waving a hand through the air and muttering something under his breath. Fjord did not have time to see what kind of magic that had been.

“Who are you?” Fjord panted. “What the hell is going on?”

“An excellent question, though I must reveal I am not entirely sure. My name is Shaun Gilmore, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Gilmore’s hand was still locked like a vice around his wrist as he towed him around one corner after another. “I wish there was the time for more formal introductions, but right now we really need to get off the street.”

“My friend Jester,” Fjord protested, “I heard her. I think she’s in trouble.”

“Well, that’s not good, but my point still stands. Fighting Grog Strongjaw was not on the list of things I wanted to do today. I assume you feel the same way?”

“Grog…” Fjord echoed, weighing the name on this tongue. “So that was who that was? I thought but… How?”

“All in due time. Survival first, mysteries later.”

Gilmore held two fingers up to his large, pointed ear. He touched the least ostentatious of the earrings affixed there and muttered an acknowledgment to something Fjord could not hear.

“Let’s go. You’ll be glad to hear that I believe I may know the location of several of your friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, tell me, are you guys excited to see the rest of Vox Machina? Or are you scared? ;)


	4. Destiny

When Caleb, Mollymauk, Nott, and Beauregard came to consciousness they were, mercifully, together. They lay prone on the cobblestones of some foreign city. It was a seemingly lifeless place composed of metal, stone, and a thick layer of black smog.

“Are you all alright?” Nott asked, clinging to Caleb’s arm as she got to her feet.

“Ja, I think so,” Caleb stood as well. “But where are Fjord and Jester?”

“Molly.” Beau aimed a light kick at the tiefling’s shoulder.

He was the only one still sitting, staring into space blankly, his hands balled in the colourful fabric of his robe.

“Earth to Tealeaf.” She kicked him again, a little harder this time.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off…” his red eyes refocused as he swatted her away.

“It’s a little dark out,” Caleb said. “Maybe I just can’t… Can you see them? Molly? Nott?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Nott replied, curling in on herself a little. “They—they were the closest to that doctor lady when she blew up. Do you think that they got blown up too?”

She sounded sad and scared, and she was shivering a little under her cloak. Without thinking, Caleb scooped her up into his arms, shielding her in his coat the best he could.

“There will be time to worry about that later,” Molly sprung into action, his vacancy replaced by a sudden intensity. “We can’t think about it. Right now, we need to get off the street.”

With one hand he grabbed Beau by the arm, with the other he grabbed Caleb, pulling them in a seemingly random direction. At the moment the road was eerily empty, like they were the only ones alive in the whole city. In the distance, barely visible through the clouds, hulking shapes hunk in the air, the beams of light which came from them distorting. 

Beau shook herself free with an annoyed grunt. “Hey man, why are you freaking out like this? Do you know something we don’t?”

“Did you ask why he’s freaking out?” Caleb interjected. “Look around, Beauregard. I’m freaking out.”

“I think the question is why you’re not freaking out,” Nott added, only her head and long ears peeking out from within Caleb’s fur-lined jacket.  

“The streets are this empty for a reason,” Molly pressed. “We need to get inside.”

He stopped in front of the smallest building on the street, finally releasing his semi-painful grip on Caleb’s arm.

“Why here?” Beau asked, sizing it up.

It was a three-story house, sporting the only wood they’d seen so far. Most everything here was made of metal or that unique white stone. And while the sides and back had been reinforced, the front and roof of this building were made of dark boards.

“It’s a tavern,” Molly gestured to the faded sign above the door. “No lights on, looks empty right now, easy to break into.” He fired his reasoning off in quick succession.

He really was nervous, Caleb noted. His tail lashed back and forth across the ground, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“Nott, could you?” Molly asked.

“Alright…” she begrudged.

She wiggled a little bit in his arms, and Caleb released her. It took the little goblin under a minute to pop the lock then they were inside the only slightly warmer darkness of the tavern. There was a thin layer of dust on the bar, but if it was abandoned it had not been that way for long.

Slamming the door, Molly collapsed on one of the barstools.

“So…” he breathed. “What is happening and what the fuck do we do?”

The silence stretched for a moment as Nott ducked behind the counter. Beau paced, Molly held his head in his hands, and Caleb stood frozen, trying to think of something, anything. Suddenly, the goblin reappeared, slamming a cloudy bottle of something down onto the wood.

“Well, I plan to get smashed. Die drunk, that’s what I always say.”

Molly beckoned with the hand not currently cupping his face. “Hit me.”

“What are you two doing?” Beau protested. “Jester and Fjord are out there somewhere, probably. And we haven’t even _seen_ anything. Why are we hiding in here for? What are we afraid of?”

“Well, Molly had a point about the streets being so empty,” Caleb said, thinking out loud. “And I think I saw airships though I’ve never seen one before. And there was the whole bit with the dying woman, ja?”

“This is not a good place,” Molly said, accepting the glass Nott slid in his direction. “I know a little something about fiends: demons and devils and the like. I’m pretty good at picking up on their trails. And this place… it’s dripping with that kind of dark energy.”

“Well, shit,” Nott said, taking a deep swig from the bottle.

“You got any more than that?” Beau asked, slamming an arm down on the bar beside him. “Could we have been teleported to one of the lower planes or something? We need as much info as we can if we’re going to find Jester and Fjord.”

“I…” Molly stammered. “No, I don’t think so. I only got a quick read while we were outside but I think the shroud over this place is demonic. And I really think we all would have noticed if we were in the abyss.”

“I always feel a little like I’m in hell so I’m not the right one to ask,” said Nott.

Molly raised his glass and Nott clinked the bottle against it before both took a perfectly synchronized sip.

Then, suddenly, from elsewhere in the building, they heard a clanking noise. All froze, listening, hands going to weapons. Someone was moving through the back rooms of the tavern, getting closer. Caleb’s eyes flickered to the one oil lamp they’d lit when they entered, debating whether or not he should extinguish it.

“Yasha?” Beau called out, softly.

“Shh…” Molly hissed. “Why the hell would…? How the hell could Yasha possibly be here?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Beau trailed off as the door across the room swung open.

Stepping into the room, was a gnome. She was heavily armoured, but most of it was concealed beneath a thick black cloak. There was something angelic about her, her hair golden waves, her features somehow both childlike and mature. Molly pointed a scimitar at her and, from across the bar, Nott leveled her crossbow. Tentatively, Beau reached for her staff.

“Wait, wait,” came the soft voice. “I’m—I’m not here to hurt you. I promise. I’m a friend. I’m here to help.”

No one lowered their weapons, and on realizing none of the others were going to, Caleb decided to speak.

“You’ll forgive our reluctance,” he said. “We just woke up in this strange place and we really have no idea what’s going on or who to trust.”

“I understand,” she said, unhooking a mace from her hip and placing it slowly on the floor. “My name is Pike Trickfoot, and it is truly a pleasure to meet all of you.” Raising her hands in surrender, she took a tentative step forward. “You’re not from here, right? You got pulled through a portal by Ripley?”

“That’s right,” said Caleb.

Molly tutted under his breath as she tried to take another step forward, brandishing the scimitar as a warning.

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Caleb asked. “Can you help us get out of this place and back where we came from?”

“Well…” came the non-committal reply. “I’m not really an expert on the magic. But I don’t want to lie to you, and the answer is I’m not sure if you’ll be able to go back. But if we could just all sit down and talk for a moment I can try to explain at least a little bit.”

“What other choice do we have?” Nott asked.

Beau softly placed a hand on Molly’s arm, guiding the sword down. “She seems honest,” she whispered in his ear.

“Alright,” Caleb relented. “Alright. I think a little information is exactly what we need right now.”

The chairs in the tavern had all been flipped up onto the tables. They positioned five of them around a round table and sat.

“Can I ask your names?” Pike asked.

“Caleb Widogast.” Grimy palm met metal gauntlet in a handshake.

“Beauregard.”

“Mollymauk.”

Came the guarded introductions.

“I’m Nott,” the goblin said, nervously, “the brave. Though everyone just calls me Nott… are you an angel?”

Pike laughed, and it was a little like bells ringing. “I’m afraid not. But it’s a pleasure to meet you Nott… to meet all of you.” She swallowed. “There are other people who can explain this better than me, once we’re somewhere safer. But we came to you because we have nowhere else to go. First, I thought maybe there was some sort of mistake with the magic that brought you here, but now I’m not so sure. There is a part of me that just knows…”  She squeezed a fistful of her cloak right over her heart “… just knows that there wasn’t.” She paused for a moment. “Things are bad in this version of Exandria, much worse than they are in yours.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Beau cut her off. “Let me stop you right there. This version of Exandria? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I know this is a lot,” said Pike, “but there are actually countless parallel versions of the universe, parallel versions of everything within it: the planes, the gods, us… probably. These universes can be completely different from one another, or have diverged as the result of a single choice. Some very clever people managed to do the impossible and open a portal between ours and yours.”

“But why?” Nott asked.

“Destiny,” she answered. “There isn’t much of that left here. There’s no fate, no chosen, no groups of young adventurers rising up through the ranks to disrupt the power structure and defeat the villains. We—we broke that here, and I didn’t realize until it was too late. And there are villains here,” she said, and there was a heavy sadness in her voice. “I’m a member of the resistance against the One Exandria Government. I’ll be honest that when we reached over into your universe we wanted a bit of firepower to help turn the tides, but I think we may have been wrong, I think we may have gotten exactly what we needed. The rulers of this land have lost their way, and while it hurts me to say it, they need—they need to be taken down... I can’t save them.”

The last part had been quieter, almost as if the gnome had been talking to herself. There was a slight sheen to her eyes, like they held back tears that would never be shed. None at the table spoke, neither in protest nor comfort. There was a tension in the air, and it was suffocating.

“I think you must all have something unique within you,” she whispered. “Something that matches one of them, like a key to a lock. I’m not sure what yet. I’m not sure which is which, but…” she trailed off. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe we’ve brought you all to your deaths and broken your universe as well.”    

Finally, it was Molly who spoke. “I’m not completely sure, but I think maybe I used to be some kind of demon hunter. Do you want me to kill a demon?”

She looked at him, really looked, and Molly felt like she could see through him, into his soul.

“I’m afraid so.” The answer came so quietly he barely heard it. “I’m sorry.”

“Well I don’t know what Molly’s talking about,” said Beau, much louder. “But I feel like we’re still missing some vital information. Like what the hell happened to your world? Who are these villains? What’s the One Exandria Government? And many many other questions which I’m sure we will receive equally cryptic answers to.”  

“Right, sorry,” Pike said, seeming to shake herself. “Have you heard of Vox Machina? What are they, in your world?”

Of the four, Caleb and Nott’s eyes lit up in recognition. The goblin elbowed the human who was staring at Pike with his mouth hanging open a little.

“Never heard of it,” said Molly.

“I’m afraid I’m with Mollymauk on this one,” said Beau, eyes flitting over to Caleb then back to Pike.

“I—uh…” Caleb stammered.

“I’ve heard of ‘em,” said Nott. “Caleb read me a story from a book once. They’re heroes from Tal’Dorei, dragon slayers.”

When Caleb spoke, the words tumbled out like a current. “Oh gods, it’s such an honour to meet you. Pike. Miss Trickfoot. I’m so sorry. When you said your name, I didn’t realize. I wasn’t thinking. Ja, I’m such a moron. Oh wow, it’s so amazing to meet you. I do not mean to be rude, and I know that gnomes have very long lifespans but… shouldn’t you be older?”

“Great first impressions much?” Beau muttered to Molly out of the corner of her mouth.

“When we’re talking about crossing universes, little things like time are difficult targets to hit,” said Pike. “What’s a few decades lost here and there?”

“Maybe the stories have been exaggerated a little,” said Caleb, “but if Vox Machina was even a fraction as powerful as they say, what—what could the likes of us possibly do to help you?”

“Well,” Pike said, sounding a bit sheepish. “That’s kind of the problem. You see… in our world, things didn’t go as well. We tried to protect Tal’Dorei, protect our loved ones. We tried with all that we had. But the path to peace is not one that ends. A battle won brought no reward but another one waiting. We lost too much. We lost ourselves. By the time I realized what we were becoming it was too late.”

Beau leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “So what you’re saying is you and your friends, these _‘legendary heroes,’_ decided one day that the best way to protect the world was to rule it.”

“Beau that can’t be what she—”

Caleb was cut off by a nod from Pike. The sadness was back in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Beau, deadpan. “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. That is a fact of life. What I don’t understand is what connection we have to this. Still, if we’re stuck here I supposed the only choice we have is to go along with you. Is that right, Pike of Vox Machina?”

“I won’t force you to do anything,” said Pike. “But at least let me get you out of Whitestone safely. Maybe once you see a little of what this world is like you’ll make your own choice.”

“Our friends are missing!” Nott cut in. “There were two more of us when that doctor lady blew herself up.”

Pike nodded. “I know. I was about to ask. Two more?” she faltered. “There were only six of you?”

“There were,” said Nott, urgently. “Fjord and Jester are the ones who are missing. Fjord is a half-orc and Jester is a blue tiefling. Do you think they’re alright?”

“I suppose, for me, that’s a good thing,” Pike said under her breath. Then, turned to them, she asked. “Do you have another friend, potentially? Someone who wasn’t there to get sucked through the portal?”

“You’re talking about Yasha?” Molly asked. “She’s fantastic, a beefy aasimar. She could bench-press me. She’s my best friend but I’m honestly glad she’s not here. I’m sure you understand why.”

Pike nodded. “And I’m sure she wishes she could be here to fight alongside you, but that’s irrelevant now. Let me see what I can do about finding your friends.”

She reached up to touch a small earing she wore. A look of concentration crossed her face, her lips moving a little involuntarily. Suddenly, she looked worried, and the others waited tensely, watching her every expression.

“Shaun has found one of you, I believe. They should be here soon, and then, at least, we’ll have someone who understands a little more about the magic that brought you here.”

It took less than ten minutes of awkward conversation and, in the goblin’s case, alcohol consumption, before the front door of the tavern swung open cautiously to reveal a dark-skinned human and Fjord, holding his falchion like he expected an attack.

His eyes found them, and his gasp of relief was visible. “You guys are alright! Thank the gods.”

Fjord was breathing hard, and there was a slight tremor in his hands. He moved forward as if to embrace them but then froze, tensing even further. “Jester’s in trouble. I heard her scream. And I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know things are real scary out there.”

“Fjord!” A drunken Nott hugged his leg. “I don’t know what’s going on either. It feels like a fever dream. We woke up, and Molly said there were demons, then we met Pike over there and she said a bunch of words.”

At mention of the gnome Fjord was back in a fighting stance, pushing the goblin behind him as he pointed his sword in her direction, eyes flicking nervously to Gilmore.

“Easy, easy.” Caleb got to his feet, holding his hands out placatingly. “She’s on our side.”

“We will help you find your friend,” Pike said, with conviction.

“Well you see… Pike, you’re the second member of Vox Machina I’ve had the honour of meeting today and the first encounter was less than pleasant.”

They did manage to calm Fjord down, giving him an abridged version of the conversation which had already transpired. In return, Fjord described what he had seen of the city and his near brush with death.

While they caught up, Gilmore guided Pike over to the bar, a movement Beau noticed, shushing the others so she could listen.

“What happened?” he asked the gnome. “I knew it was a mistake to work with Ripley. I don’t know what her game was but this is clearly not what we wanted.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, absolute certainty in her voice. “They are exactly what we needed. I think they are what this universe is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit different from the others. Lots of dialogue and explanations... meh. 
> 
> Don't you worry, I plan to continue crafting the Vox Machina campaign ending that we all know Taliesin Jaffe secretly wanted.


	5. Thorns and Clockwork

_Please Traveller._

_Please Traveller this isn’t funny anymore._

_Please Traveller, I want to wake up._

_I don’t like it here, please help me._

Jester was in chains. Her hands were cuffed together, her legs shackled. A group of four guards escorted her, accompanied by one of the clockwork bears. Her initial appreciation for the beauty of their construction had faded as the wounds in her arm throbbed.

They had dragged her into the dungeons of the imposing castle she’d seen from the city, through a door in the cliffside. It smelled overwhelmingly of death, mixed with an undertone of chemicals and soot. The darkened halls were not silent. Jester heard sobbing. She heard a muttering, obsessive voice repeating the same unintelligible fraise over and over again. She heard a manic giggling, coming from a woman curled in a tight ball at the back of her cell, rocking slightly. From somewhere deep in the complex, a piercing scream echoed.

“Where are you taking me?” Jester asked, voice shaking a little. “I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know how I got here, I swear.”

They did not respond, aside from yanking on her chains, trying to keep her from dragging her feet.

She tried not to look, she really did, but Jester could not help noticing the prisoners, and the strange things about them. There was an old man who she was almost positive was dead. He was like a skeleton with the skin stretched tight, the cause clearly starvation. But whatever logic dictated whether or not the prisoners were fed did not occupy her mind for long because he was by no means the worst thing she saw. Many of the prisoners were maimed in some way. She saw missing hands, missing eyes, incisions stitched closed with an adept hand but not healed by any sort of magic. A halfling slammed against the bars of his cell as they passed, and Jester saw in his open, bloody mouth, that he did not have a tongue.

They exited the narrow hall into a large, central chamber with many other passages leading off of it and a stone spiral staircase leading up.

From the shadows above, Jester heard a female voice, the source of which she could not discern. “There you are, darling. Where’s your sister? Still out searching, I suppose.”

The soldiers who had been escorting Jester suddenly went into deep bows, as a figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, another one of the animatronic bears following close behind.

“Queen Vex’ahlia,” one of the soldiers greeted, still bowed. “Can we be of any assistance?”

The half-elven woman stepped forward out of the shadows, so she was illuminated by torchlight. Jester couldn’t help but stare. She was beautiful, certainly, dressed in a thin dress of fine grey silk, embroidered with golden thread. A crown sat atop her dark hair, made of silver and obsidian, the design almost reminiscent of gnarled branches. But like with everything else in this place, something was wrong. On her back she wore a longbow and quiver, as wild and elven as the rest of her, the bow like a sapling which had been strung without being carved or treated. From it grew thorn-covered vines. They curled down her left arm, like a sleeve, digging deep into the flesh. Where blood should have run from the wounds, instead a viscus black fluid oozed, dripping almost to the ends of her fingers.

She walked to the bear which had bitten Jester, placing a hand against the metal of its head. And it was only then that Jester realized she had been talking to the automaton.

“Has he found her?” Vex’ahlia addressed the guard who had spoken.

“Not to my knowledge, my queen.”

“I should go too, then. She won’t get away this time. I won’t allow it.” Her eyes flickered to Jester. “Who’s this?”

“Your, uhh…” he gestured to the bear, trailing off. For a moment, terror crossed his face, before he recovered. “Bramble—uh yeah, Bramble, caught this tiefling out after curfew. She’s armed and wasn’t far from where Ripley’s spell manifested. We thought the king might want to speak with her.”

Suddenly, Jester was trapped in her gaze, piercing brown eyes like old wood. The queen sized her up and Jester managed a smile and a little curtsey. 

“Hello, I’m Jester. I like your dress.”

It did not appear she had been expecting that. Cocking her head, she smiled slightly.

“The bears are yours, right?” Jester asked. She talked when she was nervous, and the torrent of words just kept coming. “They’re really cool. I’ve never seen clockwork like this before it’s really beautiful. Except it bit me which kind of sucked but, you know.”

“His name is Bramble,” she said, caressing its face absentmindedly, like it was a living thing that felt, which Jester was fairly sure it was not. Queen Vex’ahlia was still staring at her and it sent chills up Jester’s spine. “Where did you come from, Jester?”

“The Menagerie Coast… in Wildmount. I’m not in Wildmount anymore, am I?” Swallowing, Jester decided she might as well lay it all on the table. No one was in a better position to let her go than the queen. “If you promise not to kill me I can tell you what happened to Doctor Anna Ripley.” The cold murderous look that crossed Vex’ahlia’s face almost made her regret her decision. “I don’t know her or anything. I actually really don’t like her very much at all. I just saw what happened.”   

“Well, it’s lucky that Bramble found you… let’s go upstairs and we can talk.” Her eyes flickered to the guards. “No need to throw her in the dungeon if she’s done nothing wrong. Bring her with me to the study. And you, could you find out where Percy is for me, darling? Tell him I have a lead.”

“Of course, my queen.” They all bowed deeply, one of the soldiers peeling off to follow her command.

“Go on ahead, my babies,” she cooed. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The two clockwork bears began to move up the stairs.

“Wait,” Jester called, as if there was not a soldier at each of her elbows. “Do you promise? Not to kill me, I mean… if I tell you.”

Vex’ahlia began to walk up the stairs as if she had not heard, pausing a few steps up and looking back over her shoulder. “Of course, darling… if I like what you have to say.”

Jester didn’t have much chance to look around as she was practically dragged through the castle, the soldiers attempting to keep up with the queen’s pace. The few glances she managed to get out the windows told her she was high up, the whole city laid out below like a toy-set.

The study was almost nice. It was upholstered in blues and silvers. Not small, by any means, but cozy and intimate through its furnishings. It sported a desk in the far corner beside a door leading into some sort of library. The main fixtures were a table surrounded by couches and chairs, and a huge fireplace. Above the fireplace hung the insanely massive head of a green dragon, its toothy mouth opened in a silent roar. Vex’ahlia took a seat with her back to it, the clockwork bears settling down on either side of her.

“Sit. Please.”

The soldiers pushed Jester down onto the couch across the table from Vex’ahlia. Jester couldn’t stop staring at the dragon, couldn’t help but feel like its glassy eyes were watching her. Even being in its presence made her heart beat faster. The fire burned low, spitting a little, and Vex’ahlia leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands. 

“This is nicer…” Jester stammered, “than down there.”

“Ignore her,” Vex’ahlia said, obviously noticing where Jester was staring. It felt so much like the dragon was watching her. “She doesn’t deserve the respect. I’m the one you’re dealing with right now.” Turning her attention to the guards, she said, “leave us.”

“Of course, my queen.” They bowed.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Jester,” she said. “There’s something… something I can’t find words for.”

Strangely enough, Jester understood. It was like when she looked at this terrifying woman she did not know she wanted to scream and demand how she could have done this. It was like she wanted to shake her, or hug her, or maybe both. She wanted to touch the places where the thorns dug into her skin and ask her if it hurt.

“Regardless,” said Queen Vex’ahlia. “You will tell me what you know about Ripley.” There was a threat in her voice. “You say you don’t know her, so I’ll tell you. She is a truly evil woman, a monster who has been tormenting me and the ones I love for far too long.”  

“Well you should be happy,” said Jester, “because I am fairly sure she’s dead.” She hurried to continue before the queen could react. “I don’t really understand what happened. But my friend and I found this big, crumbling house in the middle of the woods. We were looking around when suddenly… boom!” she demonstrated the explosion with an elaborate hand motion, “this lady was on the ground bleeding out. She said some weird things then she exploded! Her entire body got ripped apart! And I blacked out and woke up here, on the ground. I don’t know where my friends are. I hope they’re okay.”

The silence stretched on for a long moment. Jester traced the thorned vines with her eyes, noted that they probably grew down Vex’ahlia’s back as well, under her dress.

“And that’s the truth?”

“I know it does sound pretty crazy…” Jester trailed off. “I swear.”

She never got to find out whether or not Vex’ahlia believed her. The sound of combat reached them suddenly, from outside the doors. There was the clashing of blades, some sort of explosion, and to both Jester’s fear and elation, the muted sound of familiar voices.

Vex’ahlia was on her feet. She reached for the bow and some of the vines unfurled, pulling their barbs from her flesh and wrapping around the wood. Jester got to her feet as well, still chained. What were they doing? How were they here? She loved her friends, but she was unsure if this was a fight they could win.

The door burst inwards, and Jester saw a gnome she did not recognize, heavily armoured and wielding a mace. She almost seemed to exude radiance, blonde hair floating around her head in a halo.  

“Vex,” the gnome said, voice soft and sad.

Vex’ahlia notched an arrow. The automatons prowled forwards, clockwork clicking.

“Traitor!” she spat.

Then, Fjord appeared in the frame, panting, a thin gash across his cheek.

“Fjord!” Jester cried. She couldn’t help herself.

“Go,” said the gnome, nodding at Jester. “I’ll hold her.”

Jester ducked as a flurry of arrow flew across the room, most breaking on the gnome’s shield but one finding a home beside the shoulder plate. A beam of radiant energy was thrown in retaliation as Jester practically fell into Fjord’s arms, the shackles making it difficult to move quickly. He dragged her around the corner as one of the bears lunged at them, letting her go to jam his falchion into its eye socket. Water ran down the blade, pooling on the floor. The bear reared back, raking its claws across his armour and catching part of his arm. Without thinking, Jester summoned her lollipop, bringing it down on the bear’s back with a satisfying crunch. A few small springs and gears sprayed across the floor.

“Nott!” Fjord yelled, “get her out of those.”

They moved backwards together, Fjord puncturing a hole in its chest with a bolt of eldritch energy. With all that was going on around them, Jester had a hard time hearing what was happening in the study. She heard the sounds of battle and a few word fragments like “Percy,” and “Sarenrae.” Words like “unforgiveable,” and “friendship.” She did not know these people or why they fought, or how the hell she and her friends were involved, but she could hear the emotion in their voices, could feel the weight in the air.

“Jester! I’m so glad you’re alright.” Nott appeared from nowhere, clawed hand intertwining with hers.

Fjord engaged in melee with the badly damaged automaton as Nott pulled her further down the corridor and began to work on her chains. Even from this distance, Jester could still get in a couple shots with her spiritual weapon. Bodies of soldiers littered the hall and Jester desperately tried to get a head count of The Mighty Nein.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked, as Nott finished with her shackles and moved up to her hands.

“Last I saw,” Nott answered. “We split up a little while breaking in, but they should all be close.”

As if on cue, Caleb’s back came into view as he blasted someone around the corner with a beam of fire. Racing down the hall from the other direction came a scared looking human Jester did not recognize. Her chains clattered to the ground.

“Pike!” he yelled. “Do we have her? Time is up. They’re back.”

Fjord had just finished disassembling the clockwork bear and the newcomer skidded to a stop beside him.

“Remember how I said that if we weren’t fast our Vox Machina problem would increase from one to three?” he asked, in a powerful, accented voice. “Well, they have returned quicker than I was anticipating.” His eyes found Jester. “I’m guessing that’s her. Gather your party. I’ve got one teleport left in me today, but we’ve got to leave now.”  

“Guys!” Fjord yelled, voice echoing down the corridors. “We’ve got to leave!”

“That’s Gilmore,” Nott explained. “He’s like a super strong wizard.” Then, as if she was ashamed to say it, “even stronger than Caleb.”

Gilmore ran to the door of the study shooting a powerful blast of lightning, then dragging out a badly wounded gnome. Together, he and Fjord closed the door. Getting the idea, Jester brought her lollipop down, pressing it into place against the wood.

“I don’t know how long that will hold,” she said, nervously.

“That’s Pike,” Nott said. “She was in Vox Machina too, but she’s good.”

“Cool,” said Jester, “I don’t know what that means.”

Pike was like a pincushion, one arrow even protruding from the side of her neck. Thorn-like shrapnel marred her cheeks. But as they watched, she began to heal herself, arrows falling to the ground, wounds knitting shut.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Beau raced around the corner, staff in hand, and a rising bruise on her jaw.

“Where’s Molly?” Jester asked, worry mounting.

“I’m sure he’s coming,” Beau said. “These gun things are useless close range, and Molly’s great at—”

She was cut off by gunshots, echoing down the corridor.


	6. Escape from Whitestone

Molly thought he was doing rather well. One of the bullets had skimmed his side but it was no deeper a wound than the ones he’d inflicted to himself. Other than that, he was unscathed, beheading the last soldier in the corridor with a flourish.

Suddenly, the hairs on his back stood on end, and his blood hunter instincts kicked into overdrive. The energies in this place were perpetually terrible, but the wave of feeling that hit him now was almost too much to bear. Extending the blade ignited with the radiance of his rite, he turned to face it.

A man stood about thirty feet away, if he could be called that. Molly was rooted to the spot, unable to look away. He was wreathed in black smoke to the point where discerning features was difficult, but as he took a step closer Molly saw the glint of glasses and hair as white as snow. The smoke cleared a little, taking form. It looked a little like a cape, fanning out behind him, and around his head, a crown of writhing black. His eyes burned with a seething hatred, and he raised a gun to train it on Molly’s chest. This one was different than those the soldiers carried; small and sleek.    

“Where is she?” he snarled.

The blue of his eyes clouded over leaving them black, and as uniform as Molly’s own. This man, or demon, or whatever it was, was the embodiment of this terrible city, all sleek metal, black smog, and…familiarity.

All Molly could choke out was, “I…I know you.”

Because he did; the same way he knew the pain of his blades, or the marks of spirits on an abandoned house. It was like when he remembered a blood curse for the first time. And for a moment something flickered across the face of this man. Fear, maybe. Then, he pulled the trigger once, and again a second time. Molly’s chest exploded with pain, then everything went black.

.

.

.

Caleb was the closest to the source of the sound, knew the tiefling had been coming up behind him. Without thinking, he took off in that direction.

“Wait!” Gilmore yelled. “We have to go. Now!”

“We’re not leaving him!” Jester screamed, the most ferocious Caleb had ever heard her.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Beau reassured. “Whoever shot is probably already down.”

Caleb was halfway down the hall, so he did not see, but the thick wood of the study doors strained against the lollipop blocking them. It seemed to be holding for now but there was the sound of metallic claws on wood as it buckled outwards a little.

“Stay together,” Pike ordered.

Then, everyone else was running as well, following Caleb towards the source of the shots.

The wizard skidded around the next corner, finding himself faced with the worst possible outcome. Molly lay still on the floor. Blood pooled around him, soaking through his colourful cloak. Standing over the body was the scariest person Caleb had ever seen. He knew who this was, of course, for Caleb never forgot a word he read. Dressed in soot smudged fineries and wreathed in smoke, this was Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III. Of course, in Caleb’s world, he was not a king. Whether he wore a metal crown under the one made of smoke was impossible to discern, but if Pike and Gilmore spoke the truth then standing opposite him was the ruler of all of Exandria.

Percival had been staring at Molly intently, raising his head slowly as if just noticing Caleb was there. Caleb counted three guns that he could see: two small, one large strapped across his back. One was in his hand. All they needed to do was get Molly away from him so that Gilmore could teleport them to safety.  

“Who was that?” Percival asked him, in a threatening but even voice, gesturing to Molly. “Who are you?”

Caleb tried to speak but could not. He heard the sound of feet behind him. He had to do something, now. He and Percival moved at the same time, but the gunslinger had a quickdraw he could not beat. Instinctively, like a flinch, Caleb held a hand in front of his face, creating a momentary arcane shield off which the bullet ricochet. The second shot, however, hit him in the shoulder. But Caleb focused on Molly’s body on the floor and finished the spell he had began. All he needed was a little more time, half a second more. By some miracle, Percival, who was currently reaching for his second pistol, began to move slower. Even the smoke that fanned out behind him shifted less as Caleb’s spell took effect.

“Molly!” Jester yelled, running up from behind.

“Get him away,” Caleb ordered.

A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he concentrated. His eyes were locked with Percival’s black ones. The expression of rage and murderous frustration crossed his face slowly enough Caleb could see every detail from the twist of his lip to the grind of his teeth. It was like watching a wave break in slow motion; still coming to crash down upon him.

Everything happened at once. Jester was dragging Molly backwards across the floor, and Caleb was unsure if he was even still alive.

Gilmore was saying something like, “…ten feet. Don’t heal him yet. We need to be within ten feet.”

So, Caleb stepped backwards, unable to look away from the eventual doom of Percival’s slowly rising gun. Fjord was yelling something, and suddenly barrelling down the corridor towards them was a sword-wielding goliath.

The warm, familiar feeling of magic began to embrace Caleb, and the air began to shimmer golden. Magic more powerful than anything he could do began to take effect, just in time, for they were surrounded. On one side, Vex’ahlia, having escaped the study. On the other, Percival and Grog. All three had weapons raised. The King and Queen took a shot at the same time, arrow and bullet both hurtling towards them. Caleb closed his eyes.

Nothing came but silence.

Then, Jester’s voice, calling Molly’s name. So, Caleb dropped to his knees as well, not even bothering to take in his surroundings.

“It’s alright,” Pike placed a hand on Jester’s shoulder, stopping her. “I’ve got this.”

She muttered a few words under her breath and Caleb felt his shoulder begin to tingle. The bullet had gone all the way through, and as he reached up to touch the wound he realized there was no longer a hole there. Molly was healing as well, though the spell did nothing for his blood-soaked clothes.  

“Help me get him up on a table,” Pike ordered. “If I get the bullets out he’ll bounce back faster.”

Jester obliged, the two women hoisting the tiefling onto a nearby surface, just as his eyes flew open.  

“Where are we?” Molly rasped. “What happened?”

Pike’s steady hand on his chest prevented him from sitting up.

With his friend clearly alive, only now did Caleb begin to notice where it was they had ended up. It was a large windowless room, lit by flickering torches, the walls made of crude stone and dirt. Molly was currently lying on a large makeshift conference table, surrounded by more than twenty chairs. There were other desks and tables in the large space. Some sported scrolls and writing implements. Others showed a fairly impressive spread of weapons. One corner of the room looked like it was used as some sort of dining area. On the smoothest of the stone walls, something had been carved. Caleb couldn’t make it out from here, but it looked like a lot of text, appearing to be in common.       

Pike was softly catching Molly up on their escape from Whitestone as she poked at him with a set of medical tools. A tug on Caleb’s sleeve brought him back to reality.

“Are you alright?” Nott asked, peering intently at the would in his shoulder.

“Ja, don’t worry about me. It wasn’t too bad… not nearly as bad as it could have been.”

“If you say so, Caleb.” Nott was still clinging to his arm.

“Dude!” Beau exclaimed, giving him an enthusiastic, if not a little painful, pat on the back. “You were amazing! We probably wouldn’t have made it out of there if it wasn’t for you. You saved Molly’s life.”

“I don’t really know what I did,” Caleb admitted. “It’s all a bit of a terrifying blur. I got really fucking lucky, I think. If this resistance, or whatever they are, really think we’re going to be able to fight Vox Machina, they are completely insane.”

“Agreed,” Nott squeaked. “I think we should try to get home.”  Then, quieter, “but she’s right that you were amazing, Caleb.”

Molly was sitting up now, poking absentmindedly at the holes in his shirt. Pike had left the two crumpled balls of metal just lying on the table beside him. His clothes were completely ruined, though Caleb doubted these particular scars would be visible among the countless others that decorated his torso. He appeared to be deep in thought, barely reacting as Jester and Fjord fussed over him.

“I’m afraid to ask what happened,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“And yet we must,” came a second.

They were both female, though the second was higher and lighter than the first. A handful of hallways lead off this large, central chamber, and in one of them stood a blonde human woman and a red tiefling.

“These are Allura and Zahra,” Gilmore introduced, with a sweeping flourish. “Introductions are in order, but first I think we should all sit down. There is a lot we need to discuss.”

Awkwardly, with many glances exchanged between them, The Mighty Nein settled down around the large table, which still sported a prominent smear of Molly’s blood. Brief introductions were made by Pike and Gilmore. The party learned that Allura was a wizard and member of the former Arcana Pansophical, while Zahra was a warlock of some sort. Caleb actually recognized the name Allura Vysoren from his knowledge of the history of Tal’Dorei, but he was too overstimulated from meeting famous people today he didn’t even have it in him to get excited. He was more stuck on the fact that in this universe the Arcana Pansophical was proceeded by a “former.”    

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Allura said, smiling kindly, “even if it is a little unexpected. I’m truly sorry that you were faced with the harsh realities of our universe so abruptly. I can see how that could have been a little disheartening.”

“No shit…” Beau said, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “And I thought the Dwendalian Empire was bad. Do these Vox Machina jackasses really rule all of Exandria?”    

“In theory,” Gilmore said. “Their control is more absolute in some places than others, but they act with impunity anywhere they please, killing anything and anyone they deem to be a _threat_ without discretion. Any leadership body of any importance has either sworn fealty to them or been removed and replaced.”

“Knowing that,” Zahra said, with a long sigh, “You can see that our options for allies are rather limited.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Fjord said, “where exactly are we right now? If they control everything how are we safe?”

“We aren’t.” Pike was quick to answer. “Right now we’re set up in the old dragon bunkers under Westruum. Vox Machina actually constructed this place, carved the story of their battle on that wall, but for now they seem to have forgotten about it.”

“But for how much longer?” Zahra asked, her tail flicking violently back and forth across the stone floor. “There aren’t many members of the resistance left to protect, but I will do so until my dying breath. We need to relocate. Now that the spell has been cast there is no reason to stay here.”

“All in good time,” said Gilmore. “We aren’t safe. But would anywhere else be safer? At the moment there are a few questions I wish to address. Firstly…” he turned to face Molly. “Your encounter with Percival? What happened?” 

“I think we’re on the same wavelength, Shaun,” Pike said.

Gilmore nodded. “From what I know of him, it was out of character just shooting you like that. I’d have expected him to try to extract information on Ripley’s whereabouts through whatever means necessary.”

“Even after that,” Allura chimed in, “he’s known to be a bit of a scientist; his prisoners his unfortunate test subjects.”

An involuntary shiver ran up Caleb’s spine.

“Thanks a bunch for coming to rescue me, you guys,” Jester said, nervously.

“What threat did you pose, Mollymauk?” Gilmore asked. “To make him compromise his chances of getting to Doctor Ripley by killing you?”

Molly was staring down at his painted fingernails. A sweaty lock of purple hung down in front of his face. Caleb watched him intently. The tiefling had been uncharacteristically quiet since his brush with death. At first Caleb wasn’t even sure if he’d heard the question.

When Molly finally spoke it was with a guardedness Caleb wasn’t used to seeing in him. “I knew him…”

“What?” Beau asked. “What does that mean? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Molly snapped. He took a breath then changed his tone. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit stressed out, I guess. I don’t remember how I know him. Just that when I saw his face I knew that I did. Whoever Percival used to be, I fairly sure now he’s more demon than man. I have some expertise with fiends, maybe that has something to do with it. I have no idea why he decided to shoot me.”

“Maybe,” Pike said, sounding unconvinced.

“You have another theory?” Allura asked.

“Well…” Pike began slowly, uncertainty in her voice. “Half of one. You notice there are six of them? Without me, Vox Machina stands six strong. When we reached over we were reaching for six, trying to protect me from whatever paradox we were about to create. What I’m saying is I don’t think these are just six random adventurers. I don’t know what they are, but Allura, Gilmore, you and Ripley are all extremely powerful and competent. After all the work you put into that spell it seems unlikely that you would fail so completely.”

“So wait,” Caleb interjected. “You are saying that your original intention was to kidnap our universe’s version of Vox Machina, correct?”

“Guilty as charged,” Gilmore admitted.

“But you got us instead,” Caleb finished. “Well, I can see how that would be a bit disappointing. For us as well as for you. This universe is far too big and dangerous for our little band to be of help.”

“Maybe right now,” Pike said. “But I stand by what I said before. I think you are here because you’re supposed to be. I think… I think each of you matches one of them. Though I don’t know how that makes any sense.” 

“Reincarnation?” Allura asked. “Destiny? What are you thinking?”

“Coincidence?” Nott asked.

“Vox Machina was still alive in our universe,” Fjord pointed out.

“I don’t have the word,” said Pike, “just the feeling.”

“So you’re saying they all have a counterpart?” Gilmore asked, sounding less than convinced. He fixed The Mighty Nein with a calculating stare. “Which is which, do you think?”

“Well…” Pike said, “that brings us back to you, Molly. You said you recognized Percy. Maybe—well maybe this could be why. Maybe you two are connected somehow.” 

All eyes were on the tiefling as he nervously fiddled with his jewelry.

“There was something familiar about that awful city,” he finally admitted. “I don’t know what that means. I hate the way this place makes me feel. If it’s some connection to Percy making me feel like this then I have to say, I’m not a fan.”

“That’s dumb,” Jester proclaimed. “You’re nothing like that guy, Molly. If you are connected or whatever, I really don’t see it.” She patted him on the back enthusiastically, but there was a protective intensity under her normal cheer.

“I don’t know, Jester…” Beau said, from Molly’s other side. “They might be onto something. Molly was being weird even before Ripley showed up. When we were exploring that house… Molly, I’m right, aren’t I? The place had you on edge, like you knew what was going to happen.”

Shaking his head, Molly said, “no, I definitely did not. That wasn’t what it was. I can’t really explain it but that place gave me a headache and this terrible choking feeling. When I saw that picture, I felt… I can’t explain it, I’m sorry.” He forced a laugh. “I feel like I’m the only lead and I’m being no help at all.”

“The Briarwoods? Right?” Nott asked. “Are they involved somehow? I thought it was just a random house.”

Recognition flashed in the eyes of their new allies, as the mood shifted slightly.

“Well that’s interesting,” Gilmore said. “What do you think this means?”

“Sounds like a confirmed theory to me,” said Zahra.

“I think,” said Pike, addressing The Mighty Nein who listened with looks of confusion on their faces. “I think it means that there are some scars so deep they can reach across universes, across lifetimes. Which begs the question, I suppose, of what else can.”

“I don’t understand,” Molly said.

Caleb was quick to cut in. “I do. Don’t worry about it, I do not think it’s relevant at the moment. I think that at some point we will all be in need of a history lesson. Not now though. Things with you are already weird enough, ja?”     

Caleb didn’t like any part of this. He hated that nothing made any sense. He hated that it did. But he did know they had bigger things to worry about right now than the darker parts of a history book. Molly did not protest, simply furrowing his brows slightly.

“Well that’s one down, five to go,” said Gilmore. “You have any theories, Pike? You knew them the best.”

“I have too many theories,” she sighed. “I don’t think this is going to be an easy thing to figure out.”

“There is a lot to understand here,” Allura agreed, “a lot to research, a lot to study. Too much for tonight.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“We got lucky today,” said Fjord. “If it wasn’t for Pike and Gilmore we would certainly be dead. Though, I don’t know if much of a debt is in order, seeing as you were the ones who put us in this predicament in the first place.”

Pike laughed softly. “You owe us nothing. On the contrary…”

“It must be tough for you,” Beau cut in bluntly, “having to fight your friends, having people you trusted try to kill you.”

“Beau,” Fjord hissed, through gritted teeth.

The monk did not back down, staring intently at the gnome as if she hadn’t heard. Sadness painted her angelic features as the table waited tensely for some kind of response.

“Even now,” Pike said, “there’s a part of me that feels like they wouldn’t be able to do it. Some of them, at least. I don’t think they could kill me.”

“Pike…” Gilmore warned.

“I don’t think Grog would do it,” Pike insisted. “Even with that sword, I just—I couldn’t imagine it.”

“To assume that is a big risk to take,” said Gilmore.

“I know,” she sighed. “Still though, there was a part of me that hoped I would get the chance to talk to him.”

All Caleb could think of was the goliath barreling down the corridor towards them and decided that grief had clearly taken Pike out of her right mind.

“Even Vex,” Pike continued. “I’m just not sure. Maybe the version of them in my head is too tainted by how they used to be.”

“She didn’t look like she was holding back,” Fjord pointed out. “You were real messed up when Gilmore pulled you out.”

“There was a moment,” said Pike, “when she was aiming for my neck, but then she wasn’t, and the arrow hit my shoulder. Maybe it was just my imagination.”

“You were their friend,” said Allura. “We all were, of course. But you were one of them. This honestly doesn’t surprise me. They didn’t go mad… well, not all of them. They did what they did for a reason. It made sense at first. I almost followed them.”

“I think the same goes for all of us,” said Zahra, with a deep sigh. “It was not an easy choice to make. But Kash made his, and I made mine, as hard as it was going against him. And the more time passes the more confident I become that it was the right one.”

“And Percy?” Molly asked, though Caleb got the sense he already knew the answer.

Pike was not one to lie, even to take the edge out of a situation. “I don’t think he would hesitate to put a bullet through my head.”

For a moment, the hurt in her eyes was raw and frayed, visible even to those who did not know her. Then, it was pushed back down behind the calm, soft smile she wore like a mask.  

“Looks like you got the scariest one, Molly,” Nott said, easing the tension a little.

“Well I suppose that depends on your definition of scary,” said Gilmore, the hint of something else hiding in his voice. “There are members of Vox Machina you have not yet had the pleasure of meeting.”  

“Let’s try to prolong that as long as possible, shall we?” Zahra said. “At least until we figure out what’s going on with our new friends, here. I say we all get a good night sleep then try to start the relocation process tomorrow. I’d like to get out of Tal’Dorei if possible. We’ve put the Westruum rebel cell in enough danger.”

“It may be the best call to go to Scanland,” said Allura. “Hide in plain sight.”

Gilmore flinched. “Please… don’t call it that. I grew up outside of Ank’Harel and I will die before I call it by that name.”

“Right,” Allura said, “I apologize.”

“That is a problem for tomorrow, though,” said Gilmore. “We’ll have some rooms set up for you.” He rose from his chair. “Let me show you around the bunkers a little. There will always be someone awake and on guard in this central chamber if you need anything. Tonight, it will be one of the four of us.” He beckoned. “Come. I’m sure it has been a very long day.”

The Mighty Nein filed after him obediently, stifling yawns. They had moved westward but in Wildmount it was very late indeed.

There were many shadowy corners in this underground tunnel system, and Caleb could not help the hairs on his neck that stood on end as he passed them. It felt almost as if something or someone was watching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, let me be real for a second. I'm not sure I've got the next chapter in me. What I have planned might be a little... much. Like I'm excited to write it, but I would also like to apologize in advance. I guess we'll see if I decide to tone it down a little. 
> 
> Sooo... the meta? There was a lot of it this chapter. What do you guys think? Too weird? 
> 
> Also, I would like to take a poll on what is a better name for a city: Scanland or Ank’Harel? (There is only one correct answer.)


	7. The Raven King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter might be scary, or sad, or... I'm honestly not sure what emotion. Maybe I'm just overestimating my ability to evoke emotions in my readers.
> 
> Regardless, I apologize in advance.

Claustrophobic little rooms lined the passageways of the dragon bunkers. The Mighty Nein had all been given their own, clustered together at the end of one of the halls. There were others here aside from them, though they were mostly asleep, but it appeared that this place had been built to support many more than it currently did. Caleb had seen a few other rebels, looking more like him than legendary figures like Pike and Allura. They were scared, beaten down commoners, which strangely enough put Caleb at ease a little. How different was this, really, than the discontent which had been brewing under the streets of the Dwendalian Empire?    

Currently, he was trudging back from the washroom. Clean water filtered down from the city above, showing that the architect of this place must have been rather clever.

“Caleb?” asked a soft voice, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Scheise, Jester! Don’t do that.”

The tiefling stood in a doorway which he guessed led into her sleeping quarters. She wore no armour or cloak, simply the bottom layer of her dress. Bleary eyes regarded him with confusion. Caleb knew he’d overreacted. The truth was, he had been unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching him, and it had him paranoid and on edge.

“Sorry,” he was quick to apologize. “You startled me.”

“How do you know it wasn’t on purpose?” She grinned at him. “Though I’m a little tired for that right now, it’s true.”

Before Caleb could say ‘good night’ and continue on his way, she spoke again.

“Caleb… I’ve been doing a little bit of thinking about all the crazy stuff today. And you’re a smart guy who knows a lot of things, right?”

“Depends.” Caleb shrugged, moving a little closer. “What exactly is it you’ve been thinking about?”

“Before you guys came to rescue me I was talking with the queen for a little while…”

“Vex’ahlia?”

“Yeah, which was pretty weird and scary. She didn’t try to explicitly kill me, so I guess there’s that. But it was super weird. Like, really, really _weird_ , Caleb. Even she said so. So, I was thinking about it and how I couldn’t really put the feeling into words, and it occurred to me that… what if it was the same kind of weird as Molly’s weird?”

“Oh…” Caleb said, as realization dawned.

“It’s pretty dumb,” Jester admitted. “I actually don’t really know what I’m talking about. You should probably ignore all that.”

“No. Don’t ignore it,” Caleb said, starting to feel a little weird himself, though that could be chalked up to overwhelming exhaustion. “You are probably onto something. Though, I don’t know why you’re telling me instead of Allura or Pike, or someone.”

“I don’t know.” Jester pouted a little. “You were here, I guess.”

Caleb stifled a yawn. “Regardless. This is a problem for the morning, ja? Don’t dwell on it too much, okay Jester? Try to get some sleep. You look a little rough.”

He turned to leave, and she called after him. “Not as rough as you, Caleb! They have showers down here, you know? Did you miss them?”

“Good night Jester…” he sighed, trying and failing to suppress the smile the curled across his lips.       

Nott’s door was already closed when he passed it. They’d gotten rooms right next to each other, but Caleb still had to fight the urge to check up on her. He could not remember a time when they had been financially stable enough to get separate rooms. Even travelling with the Nein, they were always roommates. There was part of him that didn’t want to be alone in that dark, claustrophobic box, but he pushed it down. Nott needed to sleep, as did he.

So, he crawled into his bed, in a room barely big enough to hold it and the table which was the only other furnishing. He extinguished the lantern, plunging himself into darkness, and almost immediately fell asleep.

That night, Caleb dreamed.

He stood alone in a formless, black void. In this place, there was nothing, not even up or down. There was nothing here but him.

Until there was someone else. 

A dark figure, with bristling feathers and long black hair, stood facing him. Stretching between them, connecting chest to chest, was a thin thread of silvery white light. Though neither of them moved, they were suddenly closer to each other. The face of this half-elf was not unlike Nott’s porcelain mask, smooth and expressionless. Dark eyes seemed to stare through him. On his back, folded neatly, were too massive black wings. There was nothing mortal about this being: half raven and half statue. Caleb could not help wondering, for a moment, if he had died in his sleep.

But Caleb knew death. She had been hovering over his shoulder his whole life. He knew death like an old friend and this was not her. This was nothing but a cheap imitation.

“Vax’ildan?” Caleb asked, because of course that was who this was.

He did not wish to think about what that meant.

Suddenly the illusion of serenity was broken, and the expressionless face twisted into a snarl. Black wings shot out to their full width and suddenly Vax’ildan seemed to tower over him, feathers raining down on all sides. He grabbed the thread that connected them, tugging at it angerly. It stretched effortlessly, not even twitching at the point it disappeared into Caleb’s chest.

“You know,” Vax’ildan said, his voice low and gravely, “this place used to be filled with threads like this. It was a tangled, choking web of fate.”

He paused, and Caleb tried to think of something, anything to say. He didn’t know how to escape because he wasn’t even sure where he was.

“I destroyed them all!” Vax’ildan yelled, all remaining traces of divinity dissolving as he regressed to something akin to a child throwing a tantrum. “I tore this place apart! I cut through them all, because I could, because no one could stop me. I destroyed every fucking thread of fate because after all they did to me and my family, they deserved it. I swore I would never again be a slave to destiny,” he spat. “Who the hell are you? How are you doing this?”

A dagger was suddenly in his hand. It was a curved, obsidian blade, and Caleb’s heartrate increased at the sight of it. With a roar, Vax’ildan slashed at the thread, which was pushed downwards by the momentum, stretching. But it was as if the dagger was no sharper than a stick, for the thread was not severed. In fact, it did not appear to be damaged in the slightest.

He grabbed Caleb by the front of his tattered shirt, pressing the blade to his neck. This may have been a dream, but the pain of it digging into his flesh felt real.

“What did you do?” Vax’ildan demanded. “What kind of magic is this? I am The Raven King. I am death. How can someone like you defy me?”

“I—I didn’t do anything,” Caleb rasped. “I didn’t do anything. It… it was you. It was you who did this.”

Pike had said that fate was broken in this universe, and Caleb got the sinking suspicion that he was staring into the eyes of the culprit.

“When I kill you,” said The Raven King, “I will make sure your soul goes nowhere. You will disappear forever.”

“Good,” said Caleb, and the word hung heavy in the air between them.

Vax’ildan slit his throat, and Caleb came—coughing—back to consciousness. He could still feel his blood as it rushed hot from the gash in his neck. He clawed at it, desperate to breathe, but felt nothing but unbroken skin. Still, he couldn’t stop the coughing. Doubling over, Caleb slid off the bed onto the stone floor. He felt like he was drowning. Though it was no longer his own blood on which he was choking, but something hard and painful on the inside of his throat. He wretched, reaching into his mouth and grabbing hold of it. He removed a sleek, black feather, miraculously dry.

Caleb stared at the raven feather, not processing. Any lie he could have told himself about it just being a nightmare had gone out the window. He felt exhausted, as if he had not slept at all. And he was shaking like the dream itself had inflicted damage.

After their discussion the previous day, Caleb would have had to be stupid not understand what this meant. If they all had a counterpart within Vox Machina he had just been faced, rather abruptly, with his. He just didn’t understand why. The feather sat in his hand, giving him no answers.

With Mollymauk, it had almost made sense. When the tiefling yelled a stomach-churning taunt in his native infernal or cursed an enemy with a dark magic Caleb did not understand, he could see a little bit of the dangerous, all-consuming anger that Percival had exuded like a pheromone. Molly too traded away pieces of himself in exchange for justice. Logically, Caleb knew these thoughts did a great disservice to his friend’s true nature. Molly was dangerous, yes, but also so very kind and staunchly moral. Still, their connection made more sense than this. What did Caleb possibly have in common with the most tragic member of Vox Machina?

He supposed he’d just answered his own question.

If the histories he’d read were consistent on one thing, it was Vax’ildan’s depiction as a tragic figure. Caleb’s own life had been a tragedy of sorts, though one of less mythical proportions. Vax’ildan had torn apart the universe to protect the ones he cared about, but Caleb realized—with a jolt—that he could not judge him for it. After all, was that not what he was aiming for? If Vax’ildan had torn reality apart and the seams and he and Caleb were connected, that had to mean something, had to mean Caleb had a chance to do the same in his world. Would he go this far, Caleb wondered? He did not know. All he knew was that he was far too tired for self reflection.

The door to Caleb’s room swung open a crack, and he struggled to stifle another painful cough. Nott peaked in, wide yellow eyes all that was visible in the darkness.

“Are you alright, Caleb?” she asked. “I could hear you choking, even through the stone.”

She entered, lighting the lantern where it sat on the table.

“You really don’t look so good,” she said, crouching next to him. “Should we get Jester to take a look at you?”

“I’m fine,” Caleb tried to say. But his voice was raw and barely audible.

“Why are you on the floor?” Nott asked, softly touching his cheek. Her skin was rough, her nails sharp, but it was a comforting gesture all the same. “What are you holding?”

Her eyes had fallen on the black feather, still clutched in his fist.

“I…uh. I coughed it up,” he attempted. At her confused expression he tried again. “It came out of my mouth. I had this dream and… well, I think I met the member of Vox Machina I’m connected to.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t just a nightmare?” Nott asked.

As an answer, Caleb raised the feather.

“You sure you didn’t just swallow it earlier and forget?”

Though it hurt, Caleb couldn’t contain his laugh. “I’m sure.”

He recounted the dream to her as best as he could, though he was sure his words did not do justice to the true terror and intensity of it. Nott’s expression became more and more agitated as he continued, and when he reached the point where Vax’ildan had slit his throat she clutched at his arm, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Oh, gods, Caleb. He said he was going to kill you. Does this mean he knows where we are? Are you safe?”

It was like Nott’s words flipped a switch in his head, and suddenly he was on his feet. In his sleep addled state, he hadn’t even considered that. But now that he had, there was a cold dread crawling up his spine, like intuition.

“We should find someone smart… whoever’s on guard. I need to tell them what has happened.”  

“Alright… alright…”

As they moved out into the darkened passage, Nott stayed close to his leg, moving in sync with him. Her hand crossbow was out, already loaded. It was just like it had been when he’d gone to bed: dim, empty, and silent. At intervals along the walls, torches burned. Then, from nowhere, a breeze blew down the hall. The flames flickered and decreased in size, some almost going out. Caleb and Nott took off running at the same time. Caleb didn’t look behind him, refused to look into the shadows they passed. He wanted desperately to believe he was seeing monsters where there were none, like a scared child waking from a nightmare. Without thinking he grabbed a hold of Nott’s arm.

There were a few torches lit in the central bunker, all of them burning brightly. Its only occupant was Gilmore, sitting at one of the smaller desks. Several candles burned in front of him, slowly dissolving into piles of wax. He was pouring over some sort of book, long quill in his hand. As Caleb and Nott raced into the room he looked up.

“Is everything alright?” he called, a bit of nervousness edging into his voice.

Suddenly Caleb felt a little embarrassed. What were they even running from? But he quickly shook it off. If this wasn’t important, nothing was. Caleb and Nott ran to the desk, Gilmore rising from his seat to meet them. Caleb recognized what Gilmore had been working on to be a spell book. It was much thicker than his own, the words and sigils inside inscribed in a neater and more elegant hand. What he wouldn’t give to get to look through that…

 For a moment they all stood frozen, Gilmore regarding them questioningly.

“I…” Caleb stammered, as eloquent as ever. “I don’t know what to do.”

He dropped the partially crushed feather onto the desk between them.

The reaction was immediate. Gilmore snatched it up with his perfectly manicured fingers, suddenly just as tense as the two of them. His eyes flickered from Caleb, to Nott, then back again.

“Where did this come from?” he demanded.

Nott pointed a quivering finger in his direction. “He said he coughed it up. That’s pretty fucking weird, if you ask me?”

“You…?” Gilmore asked Caleb, who nodded.

“I met him in a dream… if that was even a dream. He wasn’t very happy with me.”

“Vax’ildan rarely is,” Gilmore said, with a hint of melancholy.

Caleb had not said the name, but Gilmore had known all the same.

“He told Caleb he was going to kill him,” Nott said, wringing her hands. “And for a second, when we left his room, it felt like someone was here. But that was probably nothing… right?”

“When.” Caleb corrected. His curse of a mind would not allow him to forget the exact transcript of his nightmare. “He said ‘when I kill you.’”

Two of the torches on the other side of the room went out.

At least from Caleb’s perspective, half the bunker was plunged into pitch darkness. Nott screamed, and Gilmore swore. Extending a hand, Gilmore created a large, bright orb in the center of the room. It illuminated the space more extremely than before. And Caleb barely caught a flicker of movement near one of the shadowy hallways.

“Is that you?” Gilmore called. “Vax?”

Turning to Nott, he hissed, “go wake the rest of your friends. We need to go. Now.”

“But…” she squeaked.

“We need to protect the rest of the rebels here, but you six are the priority. We need to evacuate; scatter. This is the worst-case scenario.”

“Alright.” Nott stood a little taller. “Let’s go, Caleb.”

“I think it’s best he stays with me,” Gilmore placed a steady hand on his shoulder. Caleb could feel the many rings he wore. “We’re going to get Pike.”

Again, a phantom wind blew through the room, extinguishing more of the torches, though Gilmore’s spell still shone bright.

Nott gave Caleb’s hand a little squeeze. “Be safe.” Then, she shrunk back into the shadows near the edges of the bunker.

Gilmore’s grip on him tightened, pulling Caleb in the opposite direction.

“Look out!”

Gilmore shoved him to the side as a dagger flew from the darkness. Caleb stumbled, the attack missing him, but hitting Gilmore superficially in the arm. The man let out a hiss of pain, far too quiet in the echoing room. The silence was suffocating, so starkly in contrast with the blood hammering in Caleb’s ears. How did a place like this not have an alarm system? It was ridiculous. Taking a few steps away from Gilmore, Caleb slammed his hands together, creating a rippling radius of force. A deafening clap of thunder echoed off the walls of the bunker, vibrating through the stone.

The place came alive around them as Caleb and Gilmore took off in a run.

“That was very smart,” Gilmore said. “Thank the gods your so damn smart, Caleb.”

“What does it matter?” Caleb demanded. “If Vax’ildan wants me dead I get the feeling there’s nothing I can do.”

“He’s not a god. Not quite, at least. Remember that, Caleb. He just has… a flair for the dramatic.”

Caleb followed Gilmore because he did not know what else to do. They reached one of the halls, just as heads began to peak out of doors. Gilmore yelled hurried warnings, to flee, to scatter. It didn’t matter. A dagger was thrown at Gilmore’s back, which he managed to dodge just in time. Though, it was very possible he had not been the target. Whether collateral damage or intention, the dagger embedded itself in the chest of an unfamiliar woman. She was gaunt and a little dirty, wrapped in a frayed shawl. Maybe she had been a rebel, but this was not a soldier. She sputtered blood, before going limp. In that same moment, shadow coalesced beside her, taking the shape of Vax’ildan. He pulled the dagger from her chest and her corpse hit the ground.

There were screams, background noise to Caleb, as Vax’ildan blocked their path. He had stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to them for the first time. Caleb wished he hadn’t. It was like his nightmare had leaked out into reality. There was something surreal about seeing him here, in the flesh, after their only other encounter had been the nonsense space of his dreams.

“Shaun,” Vax’ildan greeted, deadpan.

Gilmore angled his body so he was between him and Caleb. Vax was staring at Caleb like he wanted to murder him. He could not understand a hatred like that, for someone he had just met. Though, Caleb supposed he believed him responsible for the glowing thread he had seen in his dream.

Wings unfurled, exploding from Vax’s back like they were spring-loaded, and he hurled another dagger, too fast for either of them to react. It did not strike true, colliding with a wall of radiant energy which appeared in the space between them. Caleb was certain that without it, the dagger would have been buried hilt-deep in his forehead.

It was difficult to see, in the darkness of the underground, but the source of the spell seemed to have been from behind Vax’ildan. Pike stood in the hall, hand outstretched, shaking a little. Vax didn’t turn around. He beat his wings, lifting off the ground. But he did not get the chance to come hurtling towards them, for Pike closed the gap, striking out at him with her mace. Metal met metal, as he blocked her with a dagger. Friend faced off against friend. The hallway was empty aside for the four of them, everyone else having rightly fled.

“I never wanted this,” Pike said.

His only response was to jam a blade through one of the gaps in her armour. She didn’t cry out, instead blasting him with an explosion of flame and holy light. It appeared to have hit, but then he flickered almost seeming to teleport out of the way.

“Look what you’ve become,” Pike said, pointing at the dead woman lying at her feet. 

“It was her time,” Vax answered. “And it was you who left us! Not the other way around. You broke their hearts.”

Gilmore grabbed Caleb, pulling him towards the fight. Caleb dug in his heals, deciding that as lovely as Pike was he’d much rather live.

“It’s the fastest way to the surface,” Gilmore hissed. “Running the other way won’t make a difference.”

It all happened in a matter of seconds, though it felt much longer. Vax’ildan tried to pull away from Pike as they slipped past, taking a strike to the stomach. Gilmore gave Caleb a firm shove before diving at Vax, his hand coated in a shimmering layer of electricity. Gripping Vax by the front of the cloak he tore him away from Pike and Caleb. The lightning coursed through the half-elf setting hairs and feathers on end. With a yell of fury and pain, Vax shook Gilmore off of him.

“Get him out of here,” Gilmore ordered. “I might not have been Vox Machina, but I think I’ll be able to stall him.”

“Alright…” Pike’s voice was firm. “But Shaun, you better teleport out after us, you understand?”

Logically, Caleb knew he should be running, but he could not tear his eyes away from the pair they left behind. Pike was towing him by the wrist, faster than him even with her heavy armour and short legs. He kept looking over his shoulder, tripping over his feet.

“Not so fast,” Gilmore said.

He blasted Vax with a beam of some sort of energy. Caleb did not catch the type, looking back in time to see him hit the ground a good distance down the hallway. One beat of his wings and Vax was upright again.

“It’s been a long time, Vax’ildan,” Gilmore said, with an exaggerated sort of cheer. “Would you consider making a bit of time for an old friend?”

Caleb and Pike were getting further away, the ground beginning to slant upwards. Caleb could hear the sound of the fight, saw Gilmore dissolve into a cloud of mist as one of Vax’s dagger hit him. He saw that The Raven King was starting to show the signs of the battle, the scorch marks on his armour terribly mortal.

They were almost out of sight now, haloed in the spotlight cast by one of the torches. Vax’ildan was so fast it was difficult to follow him with your eyes. One moment they were more than ten feet apart. The next, so close together it could have been an embrace. Caleb couldn’t move, could see nothing else but the two figures, motionless except for their flickering shadows.

The tip of a dagger protruded from Gilmore’s back.

It would have gone right through the heart.

This was the kind of wound one did not recover from. Gilmore wasn’t moving, slumped forward against his killer. Somewhere, it sounded like someone was screaming. It wasn’t Caleb. He was mute, frozen, though he seemed to be the only one who could hear it. He wanted, more than anything, to turn away, but was unable to, trapped by tunnel vision. Pike was saying something, but he could not make it out. All sound was muffled like it reached him through ten layers of glass.

Caleb wasn’t sure exactly what happened after that. Everything was a blur. The world melted around him like running paint. Somewhere, _someone_ was screaming.

There were voices. He did not know what they were saying. There was running, yelling. Zahra was here. She cast some sort of spell, and black tentacles reached hungrily from the walls of the tunnel. Pike’s hand was in his, warm and comforting. He could no longer see Gilmore and Vax’ildan. Then, eventually, there was sunlight.

It was early morning in some unfamiliar city. They wove through the buildings. Pike and Zahra knew where they were going. Some communication had occurred, seemingly the result of a message spell. Caleb caught glimpses of others running. The chaos from below had bubbled up to the surface.

“Caleb!”

Nott’s voice cut through the fuzzy mess that was his mind. She was here. She was safe. They all were. His friends stood hidden in the mouth of an alley, lead by Allura. They were all talking at once, reaching for him. Ordinarily that would have been too much contact, too much attention, but at the moment Caleb was only half in his body. His exhaustion had caught up with him, combined with an intense strangeness he could not explain.

“I’m fine,” he heard himself saying, hugging Nott close to his chest. “I promise, I’m alright. I’m alive.”

“We need to leave,” Allura said. “Now.”

A single tear ran down her cheek. Still, she was stoic and commanding. Caleb had not known Gilmore, did not know Vax’ildan. This universe should have meant nothing to him. What excuse did he have for falling apart?

“Marquet then?” Pike asked.

“Sounds sufficiently far away,” agreed Beau.

“Take care of them,” Zahra said. “I couldn’t leave the rebels to clean up our mess, even if your teleport spell did have room for nine.”

Pike and Allura both enveloped the tiefling in a tearful hug. Promises of reunion were exchanged. Caleb buried his head in Nott’s shoulder and tried to refocus. She always let him hold her when he needed it. She was great like that.

“We should go,” Allura said, and there were no arguments from The Mighty Nein.

The air began to shimmer as the spell took effect. And they disappeared, leaving Tal’Dorei behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did put the major character death warning but if you guys can think of any other good tags I need let me know.
> 
> School is stabbing me repeatedly through the chest right now and I'm like 5 things behind just from finishing the last page of this chapter. However, it will be all over soon and I will hopefully have much more time to write.


	8. My Kind of Town

As Allura’s teleportation spell completed, the Mighty Nein found themselves bathed in warm air. It was hot and dry and, again, it was night. For them, it had been night for almost twenty-four hours. It was like they were fleeing from the sun, moving further westward with every stop. It had been, by far, the longest and worst night of Beau’s life. However, she had at least gotten the benefit of a few hours of sleep. Caleb, on the other hand, did not look so good. Nott slid from his arms, landing nimbly on the ground. It didn’t look like he’d even realized he’d dropped her, swaying a little on his feet.

Beau reached out, prepared to catch him if he fell, but Jester beat her to it. The tiefling held him in a firm embrace, somewhere between supporting and carrying. Caleb was limp, shaking a little, though Beau was fairly sure he was still conscious. Much to her surprise, the exhausted wizard wrapped his arms around Jester, pulling her into a hug.

“I think you broke Caleb,” Nott said, looking at Pike accusingly.

Beau couldn’t help but agree. He clung to Jester in a desperate sort of way that was disconcertingly un-Caleb. Beau wasn’t exactly the hugging type, but next to Caleb she was downright touchy-feely. Caleb wasn’t big on touching in general, even with Nott. It really did look as if something in him had snapped. Knowing Jester, Beau expected her to make a joke, make fun of Caleb, or at least agree.

Instead, she hugged him back, saying softly, “everything’s going to be okay. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Which begs the question…” Pike said under her breath, so softly it was clear she was talking to herself, “of what else can.”

Beau looked at her in confusion for a second, but Pike did nothing to follow up her cryptic mutterings.

“Jester’s right,” said Allura. “They won’t be able to find us right away. Vax must have already known about the bunkers, but there’s nowhere better to disappear than Scanland. Ank’Harel,” she corrected herself, “though this is not Ank’Harel as it used to be. It is nothing like the one from your universe.” Her eyes flickering down towards Nott. “What do we do about her?” she asked Pike.

“What about me?” Nott asked, indignantly.

“This…” Allura began, “is not the safest place for a goblin to be. Quite the contrary.”

“So?” Nott asked. “I don’t see how that makes it different than literally any other city.”

“The thing is, Nott…” Allura began, struggling to find words.

“This is a discussion for tomorrow, I think,” said Pike. She smiled at Nott, placing a hand on her shoulder. She stood only about a head taller than the goblin, could actually meet Nott’s eyes without looking down. “We just want to keep you safe. Truly, there’s nothing else I want aside from that. I think we will have to use some sort of magic.”

“I have magic,” Nott said, “Caleb taught me, watch this!”

Suddenly, Pike was standing face-to-face with an almost perfect replica of herself. She took a step back, shock melting into quiet laughter.

Beau also had to stifle a chuckle, elbowing Fjord. “Looks like she’s found someone else to copy. You jealous?”

“Relieved is more like it,” grumbled the half-orc.

“I suppose that will have to do,” Allura said. “Though it’s only temporary. We should attempt to find you a hat of disguise, or something along those lines. While we’re in this city, never reveal your true form, no matter what. Do you understand? That mask you wear will not be enough.”

“Okay, alright… jeez,” Nott said, clearly stressed out by the cryptic warnings.

“Hey Molly,” Beau said, regarding the tiefling with a raised eyebrow. “Speaking of being inconspicuous, I’m not sure blood stains are in fashion right now.”

Beau wouldn’t ordinarily bother, but Molly’s shirt was more red than white, his jacket also unsalvageable. She figured it was a bit much, even for a place like _Scanland_.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t had time to go shopping.” Molly flashed her a fake smile that was not unlike an animal baring his teeth. “Such a shame… I loved this outfit.”

“I could try prestidigitation,” Allura said, “but I don’t think it will be enough, not for that.” Her eyes traced the bullet holes in the fabric.

“It’s alright,” Molly proclaimed. “I’m over it. It’s time to change up my look. New universe, new me.” Just like that, he peeled off the jacket and shirt, squished them into a tight ball, and flung them into a corner of the alley. “For now, you’ll just have to enjoy the view.”

Beau’s eyes rolled so far back in her head she may have seen brain matter. It was debatable that a shirtless Molly was any less conspicuous than blood stains. He was, in a way, a piece of artwork, if by that she meant an overcrowded children’s finger-painting.  He was built slim and scarred to all hell. She might have found if impressive if she hadn’t known most of them to be self-inflicted. But if a tattooed purple tiefling with two prominently displayed scimitars was going to fit in anywhere it was Ank’Harel, at least the one she’d been told stories about.

Beau had not been the only one staring.

“What?” he stared them down. “It’s the right type of weather for it. If this is what it’s like at night, I think I could get used to this.”

“It’s late,” Allura said. “We should be fine. I think it’s best we all get some rest.” Her eyes went to Caleb who was still being supported by Jester.

“Wait,” Fjord called, as Allura began to make her way down the alley. “What should we be expecting? I’m gathering this place isn’t filled with soldiers like Whitestone. But there is Vox Machina here, right? Scanlan? The bard?”

“He controls this city,” Pike said, beckoning for them to walk as she explained. “I think Percy gave it to him to get him out of the way, to contain his influence to one area. Scanlan’s not exactly… the ruling type. He has turned this place into the antithesis of everything Vox Machina has tried to turn Exandria into. When we decided to take control, we intended to bring order, law, safety for all. Scanland, on the other hand, is lawless. He has agents of course, but he runs the city more like a crime syndicate than a government.”

“Anarchy, drugs, things of that sort,” Allura continued. “It’s like a vacuum sucking in all those unsavoury characters who do not wish to live in the world Vox Machina has created.”

“Sounds like my kind of town,” Molly said. He seemed to be taking great pleasure in his shirtless state, chest puffed out, horn ornaments swinging.

It was late at night, but the city was not asleep. Music flowed out into the street from a variety of sources. There was drunken laughter and groups of people moving through the dark. Mixed with the alcohol and the smell of animals, the sweet scent of hookah smoke hung in the air.

They moved through a large square bordered by tall buildings with domed roofs. Strings of decorative lanterns hung between them. In the center was a statue. It depicted what appeared to be a female gnome playing a flute. The artistry was excellent, her expression beautiful and serene.

“Come on,” Allura said, softly, catching Beau’s attention.

Pike had stopped walking, looking up at the statue with a forlorn expression on her face. Allura placing a hand on her shoulder, guiding her along.

“I hate this stupid city,” Nott hissed, under her breath.

Beau was fairly sure she was the only one to hear. Nott looked towards Caleb as if she intended to get his attention but turned away as if dissuaded by his zombie-like state, or maybe by his proximity to Jester.

“I hate this whole fucking universe,” Beau said, falling into step beside the goblin.

It was a little disconcerting hearing her shrill voice originate from Pike’s mouth, but there was something about Nott’s posture and the way she moved that made them easy enough to tell apart.

“This isn’t our problem,” Nott said, staring intently at her feet as she moved across the square at an accelerated pace. “I refuse to play along with the weirdness. I thought Caleb would agree with me.”

“I’m sure he does,” said Beau. “But it’s not like we have much of a choice. Unless you have some way back to our universe you haven’t mentioned.”

Nott made a frustrated sound but did not reply past that. As always, she was a concentrated ball of anxiety, though this time it seemed to be mixed with a little anger. 

They made their way to a sprawling bazaar. Thick fabric hid them from the sky, stretching for blocks. Many stalls were closed, but there was a good percentage that were open for business, especially those selling food and drinks. Allura and Pike lead them to a building that seemed to be something akin to an inn and tavern. It may not have been as late as Beau had initially estimated, for the interior was still quite lively. The tavern was laid out like a lounge, composed mostly of booths separated by hanging curtains. Patrons sprawled across cushions, drinking and smoking.

“If I remember correctly this place is a bit more of a hostel,” said Pike. “Though I’m hoping there’s enough of us to maybe get a private room.”

With a little bartering, Pike and Allura were successful in their quest, and the party deposited their belongings upstairs. It was clear the sleeping arrangements were fairly communal. The inn was composed of large rooms divided further by hanging curtains, which offered only a smidgen of privacy. The choice of bed seemed to be either colourful hammock or some sort of low couches. Thankfully, the eight of them had the room to themselves, though there were far more beds than they needed.

“This place reminds me a bit of Mollymauk,” Beau said to Fjord, swinging back and forth on one of the hammocks. “A disorganized mess. But like… it knows, and it doesn’t care. It’s clear the owners are going for an _aesthetic_ , you know?” She paused her swinging. “Hey, where is Molly?”

“Doin’ something stupid, I reckon,” Fjord sighed. “He said he was going to get a drink and disappeared as soon as we were through the door.”

“That doesn’t sound like a terrible idea,” said Beau.

Fjord stifled a yawn. “Doesn’t make no sense, but I think I’m too amped up to sleep. I’m also starving.”

So, it was decided.

It seemed that, aside from Nott, no one else wanted to come with them, all keen on passing out as soon as possible. Caleb was already asleep, Jester having arranged him among the cushions on one of the couches. Allura was tentative to let them out of her sight, Nott specifically, but did not stop them after Nott promised to return quickly. Her disguise spell had to be ending soon.

Nott kept her word, sitting with Beau and Fjord in their booth just long enough to pour her drink into her flask and inhale a plate of food at an alarming rate. There was something distinctly uncanny about the dignified Pike shoveling curry into her mouth, but soon enough she was gone, and Beau’s laughter faded with her.

Across from her, Fjord sipped his whisky, staring blankly into space. Beau picked at the last few grains of rice on her plate, trying to find words. It wasn’t awkward. She and Fjord had spent many nights drinking in silence. It was one of the reasons they were such good friends. There was an absence of expectation between the two of them, a sort of calm understanding. In a group full of blinding personalities, having someone like Fjord by her side was a relief. It was Beau who needed to talk, this time, needed to find words to somehow made this madness into sense.

“Fuck…” she finally said, hoping he understood.

“Fuck,” he affirmed.

In synch, they both took a long drink. The liquor was good here, better than any she’d ever had in Wildmount.

“What the fuck do we do, Fjord?” she asked.

“Fuck if I know.” He sighed one of his trademark sighs. “Try not to die, I suppose. Stick together, protect one another. We’ve been travelling together for a while now. We’ve been through a lot, and I know that ain’t trust but maybe it should be. If we don’t got each other, in this world, we’ve got nothing.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, because he was right. He was right, and she hated it.

After a stretching silence, Beau asked, “what do you think of Pike and Allura? Do you trust them?”

Fjord seemed to mull that over. “I think there’s a lot they haven’t told us. But to be fair, they haven’t really had the time.”

“Yeah? And you think they’ll tell us now?”

“Remains to be seen. They’re willing to die for their cause, we know that. That’s worth something.”

“Gilmore seemed like a nice dude,” said Beau. “It really hit Allura hard when she got the message. They’re at war, but I could tell they weren’t prepared to lose him. I don’t know how many allies they’ve got left.” She paused. “What I’m saying is… I’m not sure this is the side we want to be fighting on, you know?”

Fjord eyebrows furrowed as he stared her down with a hint of frustration. “What else are we going to do? They’re the ones protecting us. They could have left us behind at any point, but they didn’t. Gilmore died protecting Caleb.”

“But why though?” Beau pushed. “They tried to summon Vox Machina level backup and ended up with some low-level mercenaries. Why are they protecting us like this? Why are we their priority? They say we’re supposed to take down Vox Machina because of destiny or some shit, but they must know at this point that’s impossible.”

“They brought us here,” Fjord pointed out. “Maybe it’s guilt.”

“Maybe… But I don’t think so.”

“I trust them,” Fjord said. “At least as much as I can, knowin’ them for as long as I have. Pike’s the good kind, I can tell… Better than us. She feels guilty for what she was a part of, wants to atone. I don’t think there’s more to her motivations than that.”

“Yeah,” Beau muttered, “that’s the problem. Too good and righteous never ends well, trust me.”

“That’s an awful pessimistic way of looking at it. I’d argue that’s only true if the people you’re running with go evil and decide to take over the world.”

“So…” Beau drummed her fingers against the table in a rhythmic pattern. “Which one do you think is yours?”

“What?”

“Which one of Vox Machina is your double, or nemesis, or whatever? The Percival to your Mollymauk, the—”

“I get what you’re askin’,” Fjord cut her off. “And…”

He stopped, staring intently down at his hands. Beau could practically see the gears turning. He was clearly deep in thought, honestly considering the question like there was something to consider.

“Any hunches?” Beau pushed. “We’re just spit balling, here. If we’re supposed to have some sort of epiphany, or weird feeling, I’ve got nothing. I don’t even have a guess. But then again, I don’t even know what the options are.”

“I feel the same,” Fjord said, his face falling into the expression Beau recognized as the one he used when he didn’t want to be read. “I’ve had no kind of epiphany, no scary dreams, haven’t recognized no cities. I don’t know which one of them ‘ _is mine’_ and honestly, after what happened to Caleb, I don’t think I want to.”

Like a nervous tick, Fjord summoned his falchion onto the table. It lay across his open palms. Like always, a bit of moisture clung to the blade. He stared down at it pensively, and Beau got the feeling there wasn’t going to be much more conversation between them tonight.

“We should probably get some rest,” Beau said, after the last drops of booze had been sucked from the corners of her glass.

“Yeah,” Fjord agreed, stifling the next in a series of yawns. “Got to go find Molly, then I’m right with you.”

“And if Molly doesn’t want to be found?”

“If I know him, he’s too messed up right now to know what he wants.”  

 Beau grumbled a little under her breath but followed Fjord as he began his search. This was nothing new. Maybe it was because the pair had ended up as roommates, but at some point since The Mighty Nein had begun travelling together, Fjord had both invented then assigned himself to the ‘ _Molly Retrieval Squad.’_   Or maybe he’d inherited the prestigious position from Yasha, Beau wasn’t sure. Because she enjoyed Fjord’s company, this meant that Beau was often an unwilling member as well. It truly was a thankless job. Molly was a dumbass. It wasn’t that the tiefling couldn’t take care of himself, it was just that he chose not to.

It took them about ten minutes of searching, in which Fjord grew increasingly worried. Beau knew Molly was a reckless idiot, but even she hadn’t thought him stupid enough to wander off by himself under the circumstances. Thankfully, she had been right, as they did eventually find him in a back room of the tavern. He sat around a low table with eight strangers. The carpeted floor was strewn with large pillows. On the table sat a hookah. The smoke that hung in the air here was more acrid than it was sweet. Beau had to shake off a bout of light-headedness, trying to inhale as little of the vapour as possible.

Not unlike them, Molly’s new friends were a bit rough around the edges. Some of them carried weapons, though they were far too intoxicated to use them. There were five humans, a dwarf, a half-elf, and another tiefling. There was very little conversation, everyone seeming to be enjoying the effects of whatever drug it was this time. Still, Molly looked to be the worst of the bunch. He was slumped forward over the table, still shirtless, barely managing to support his head in his hands. His tattoos were on full display, captivating the attention of the human and tiefling who sat on either side of him. The human man traced the patterns with a finger, though Molly didn’t seem to notice.

“Only he would get this fucked up with people he don’t know,” Fjord muttered. “It’s like he’s looking for something bad to happen.”

“Honestly,” Beau said, “I’m surprised he’s lived this long.”

A few heads turned towards them, fixing them with less than welcoming stares. Molly didn’t even look up.

“Can we help you?” one of the humans asked, in a marquesan accent.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Fjord said, falling into his trademark politeness. “We’re just here to get our friend.”

Beau did her part, crossing her arms and trying to look intimidating.

“Molly?” he called, walking over to the edge of the table.

Molly was across from them, wall behind him and other very stationary people on either side. He raised his head, taking a few moments to processes.

“Oh, hey Fjord. What’s up?” He was understandable, but just barely, words slurred heavily.

“You look like you’re done for the night,” Fjord said, much more patient than she would have been. “Probably best we all get some sleep, seeing as we have a hell of a lot of shit to deal with tomorrow.” 

Molly laughed. It wasn’t the full body, head back laugh he so often fell into. It was more of a low chuckle, but it didn’t end as he buried his face in his hands, shaking like Fjord had just said the funniest thing in the world.

“You good?” Fjord asked, a bit of worry slipping into his voice. “Come on. Beau and I will bring you up to the others.”

It did not seem like Molly planned to stand on his own, so Fjord slipped behind the table, stepping carefully over pillows and splayed limbs.

“Are you really leaving?” asked the other tiefling. She linked her arm through Molly’s, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout.

“You sure, Molly?” asked the human, settling his hand on his shoulder.

“… they have come to retrieve me,” Molly said. Then, in a slightly singsong voice, “shit to deal with.”

Fjord could tell the human was very deliberately not moving out of his way. However, Molly held an arm up towards him. Grasping it, Fjord pulled him to his feet, only to have Molly immediately stumble into him.

“Now, that… is some spinning,” Molly commented, cheek resting against Fjord’s shoulder.

Beau and Fjord exchanged a very exasperated look. Both of them knew how to enjoy a good party, but that was not the same as the way Molly was acting. His news friends said their goodbyes, to which Molly was too spaced out to respond, as Fjord practically carried him out of the room.

“Should have just left him,” Beau joked. “He would have been fine.”

“I’m sure.”

Molly was being incredibly dramatic in the way in which he draped himself across Fjord. Beau wasn’t sure if he’d really forgotten how to walk properly, or if he’d just executed a successful con to get Fjord’s arm around his waist. Knowing him, it was probably both.

“What the hell were you doing?” Fjord demanded. This was a little out of character. Beau had been on a handful of Molly retrieval missions, and Fjord wasn’t usually the lecturing type. “You’re completely helpless like this. There’s a time an’ a place for this sort of thing. What the hell would you have done if Vox Machina had showed up? Huh? Fucking irresponsible…”

“What even was that drug, man?” Beau asked, as Molly maneuvered his horn into the crook of Fjord’s neck, forcing the half-orc to take even more of his weight. “Do you even know?”

“Some fucking foreign word,” came the muffled response.

“Molly…” Fjord growled, giving up halfway through the sentence, as they reached the stairs.

Raising his head, Molly fixed them both with a deliberate stare, seeming to have regained some modicum of lucidity.

“Once you find out which one of those fuckers is your problem you’ll be right here with me,” he said, his voice somewhere between humor and cruelty.

“Can’t argue with that,” Beau admitted.

Suddenly, Molly began to make a lot more sense. Beau reminded herself that he wasn’t shirtless to show off his abs, but because his clothes had been ruined by his near-death experience.

Fjord stared down at the ground, chewing his lip. He said nothing more to chastise Molly as they made their way back to the rooms. Molly was deposited on a couch without waking any of the five already asleep. Beau briefly wondered if someone should be keeping watch, before deciding she was far too tired to care and throwing her body into one of the hammocks. At last, the longest night of her life came to an end.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a slower chapter, but I wanted to play around a bit in the world and I like writing dialogue and character interaction and stuff. This fic just moves too damn fast... 
> 
> So, without spoiling anything, I had this semi-plan for a thing in this fic. But now I'm not sure if I should use it anymore because it looks, aesthetically, too similar to something Matt has done. I know it shouldn't matter to me, but it kind of does. Maybe I can even work a connection in. Now that I think of it, that could work. Hmm... regardless I'll stop rambling. 
> 
> Do you guys want to know a bit more about what happened to Vox Machina? I wrote a scene that was supposed to be in this chapter, but I decided to end it early. That should be coming to you next time!


	9. Painful Memories

When Pike awoke, the others were still sleeping. It was already mid morning, and thin sunbeams filtered through the hanging cloth, casting slightly tinted shadows across the faces of her charges. It was a warm, dry day, the scent of sand hanging in the air, and despite herself Pike couldn’t help but think of them. She couldn’t help but see Vox Machina when she looked at these strangers. It was impossible not to think of the early days, back before they’d been powerful heroes, back when they’d just been a rag-tag family helping each other survive. This party was beaten, dirty, young, and lost, but for the moment at least they looked peaceful.

She wished she could protect them; knew that she couldn’t. The previous day had been a cruel reminder of that. She had been dragged, unwilling, back to one of the worst days of her life. As Mollymauk lay bleeding out on the ground, gunshot wounds in his chest, she had almost frozen. But by Sarenrae’s grace they’d escaped, and she’d managed to heal him in time.

Staring down at Mollymauk, trying to pick out the bullet wounds among his patchwork of scars, Pike remembered that they had errands to run. The boy needed a shirt. It was best she and Allura went now. Everything got much more complicated when done in a group, and they needed their sleep anyways.

She managed to wake Allura and exit the room without waking anyone aside from Jester. The tiefling was a little interested in accompanying them, but was easily dissuaded, given the job of informing her friends where they’d gone. She settled on the windowsill with a sketchbook, wishing them luck in an excited whisper.

There was something so good about Jester. It made Pike feel warm when she spoke to her. If she really was Vex’s counterpart, as Pike was beginning to suspect, it made her so happy to see how at peace Jester was with herself. Then, of course, there was the fact she was a cleric able to use the full extent of her abilities in this twisted universe they’d created. Until now, Pike had thought herself the only one. It was just one more conversation that needed to be had, to add to the long list of them.   

Pike and Allura working together made for the model of efficiency. A shopping trip without a single shenanigan or argument made her feel a little hollow, but they did procure both a hat of disguise, potions, and new clothes for Molly with minimal trouble.

On re-entering the tavern, they found the party awake and eating breakfast. Mercifully, Nott was not among them. Allura headed upstairs with Caleb to give Nott the hat of disguise. Caleb had assembled her a pile of various foodstuffs, which he balanced precariously in a shallow bowl. Pike took a seat in the booth next to Fjord, trying to flash them all her warmest smile.

She handed the clothes to Molly: a white cotton top, and brown traveling cloak. It was a little less colourful than his previous attire, but he didn’t complain, muttering a muted “thank you.” He looked more tired than the others, dark circles visible under his eyes. As he dawned the garments, Jester and Beau made a couple of jokes about his style change, to which he was mostly unresponsive. Pike couldn’t help the curl of worry she felt in her stomach. This was a stark contrast to the Molly she’d been getting to know.

“So,” Beau said, always the blunt one, “looks like we’re not _currently_ running for our lives. I think we were promised some explanations.”

“Beau can be quite rude,” said Jester, “but she’s not wrong. We’ve all been wondering what’s going to happen. What are we going to do? Are you going to get us home?”

Fjord shifted to look down at her. Molly massaged his temples with clawed fingers, eyes closed. It was quiet in this corner of the tavern. They were hidden from other tables by fabric, very few other patrons hanging around at this hour.

Pike sighed. “We’re still trying to figure that out. To be completely honest, I’m not really sure where to start.”

“How about with what happened,” said Fjord. “I know that it won’t mean much to anyone aside from Caleb and I, but I know the story of Vox Machina. I sailed across to Tal’Dorei a fair handful of times. I heard a couple first hand accounts, but still, I never fully believed it. They were myths, the killers of dragons and evil gods. How did heroes like that turn into dictators?”

“It wasn’t all at once,” Pike said. “It wasn’t one thing, or one moment. It was a slippery slope, so gradual at first that I didn’t see it. The glimpses we managed to get into your world were blurry at best. Ripley did the most research, some before she joined up with us, so some of this comes from an unreliable source, but I’m aware of a few things that probably contributed. There are things that went better in your universe than in ours. We lost people, and fights, that your version of Vox Machina did not. In our universe, enemies came at us all at once rather than taking their turns. What we did, what we became, we did to survive, to protect one another.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Beau. “Rewind a second. What was that about Ripley? She was the one who brought us here, and what you just said makes it sound like you didn’t even trust her. What’s that about?”

“You know…” said Jester. “When I met Vex’ahlia she didn’t actually try to kill me or anything. It seemed like she just wanted to know about Ripley. She said she was evil.”

“When I ran into Grog he _was_ planning on cleavin’ me in half,” said Fjord. “But when I mentioned the doctor he stopped, said Percy would want to talk to me. Good catch, Beau. Who exactly was it you were working with?”

“So, you haven’t heard of her?” Pike asked, fighting anxiety. “In any of the stories you’ve heard?”

Pike was suddenly gripped with the same guilt she felt when facing down a member of Vox Machina. She knew, through Sarenrae, why she had made the choices she’d made, but how did she explain it to them without losing the trust she was building?

“I don’t have the best memory,” Fjord admitted. “If I’ve heard of her I don’t recall. You know anything Molly?”

The half-orc had picked up on a slight change in Molly’s demeanor, which Pike now noticed as well. He looked pensive, and a little pained.

“Just that when I saw her it was like screaming in my head,” Molly says, “if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” came a voice from behind them. It was Caleb, approaching with Nott and Allura. Nott looked like a halfling, but Pike could still tell it was her. “At least to me. I know what you mean, Molly.”    

The group shifted to make room for them around the table.

“I didn’t put the pieces together until I had a frame of reference,” said Caleb. “Anna Ripley’s a known historical figure. She actually used to work for the Dwendalian Empire. From what I’ve read, a nasty and dangerous woman, all things considered. Vox Machina defeated her, though I never saw detailed accounts like with the Chroma Conclave or Whispered One.”

“You know an awful lot,” said Pike, both surprised and pleased.

“Caleb remembers every single thing he’s ever read,” said Nott, proudly. “And he’s always looking for books.”

“Well what he says is true for this universe as well,” said Pike, fighting to keep her emotions off her face. “Almost… Anna Ripley was evil and dangerous, an enemy to Vox Machina. But as I’m sure you’ve gathered, here we were not so successful in killing her.”

“Yet you were working with her?” Beau accused. “If Vox Machina thought we had something to do with her, no wonder they’ve been trying to kill us.”

“When she came to the resistance,” Pike said, slowly, afraid to meet their eyes, “I almost killed her. _It_ was her fault what happened to us. She swore she was sorry for what she’d done, but I didn’t believe her. She only regretted her actions, and what Vox Machina became because of them, because of the danger it put her in. But I believe in redemption, in second chances. I believe in it more than anything else.”

“Because you think they’ll come back to you?” asked Fjord.

“Maybe…” Pike sighed. “I said earlier I didn’t know where to start, in explaining what happened to us. But there is one thing, which sticks out to me like a barb. It probably wasn’t the first stone in our road to darkness, and it definitely wasn’t the last, but it was one of the worst days of my life.”

“Something Ripley did?” asked Caleb.

Pike nodded. “Still…” she said, “I feel there may have been something I could have done to save them. If I’d just been stronger. If I’d been there when they needed me.”

Some memories hurt, in a physical sense. When Pike’s mind settled on them it was like a burst of pain in her skull. _No. Don’t. Don’t dwell on this please. It hurts too much._ Still, she pushed through the warning, picking the old scab like she always did.

…

_Vex was crying. Silent tears had degenerated into shaking, full-body sobs. It was the only sound in the room, echoing off the stone walls. Pike clutched her holy symbol in her fist, holding it to her lips. It felt like nothing more than cold metal. Just like this building felt more like a crypt than a temple. Her own tears were wet on her face as Pike repeated the same questions over and over again in her head. “Why Sarenrae? Why can’t I save him? What do I need to do?”_

_Percy’s body lay still on the table before her. He was beautiful, even in death. They’d removed his glasses, his white hair a dirty mess. Still, there was something angelic about him. Stripped of armour and jacket, he wore only a white shirt, so stained with blood very little of its original colour remained. Vex didn’t seem to notice, sobbing into his chest, her fingers curling through the bullet holes in the fabric._

_“Percy!” Keyleth’s voice cut through choking quiet, sharp and desperate._

_She stood in the center of the room, hand outstretched towards him.  They all watched with bated breath. She was their last hope, eyes vacant as she watched something they could not see. She reached towards nothing, fingers splayed. Desperation, and fear, and horror all flashed across her face in quick succession._

_“No!” she screamed. Then, again, “Percy!”_

_Her eyes refocused and she sunk to her knees, clutching her hand to her chest. Pike knew, then. She was fairly sure they all did._

_“I saw him,” Keyleth whispered. “Orthax he… Orthax has him. It was… I—I reached for him. I was so close. I almost grabbed his hand. But—” she choked, tears carving rivers down her cheeks. There was such horror in her eyes. Pike was grateful she had not seen what Keyleth had, did not have to know what she did. “—he pulled him away. Into darkness. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t…”_

_No one spoke. What was there to say? There was no joke Scanlan could make, no sweet words to soften this blow. Pike could not look to Grog to steady her, as she often did, he was as frozen as the rest of them._

_Without warning, Vax spun, shooting out of the temple. He left his sister, still wracked with sobs too big for her body, and Keyleth who was turning to him as if to speak. The door slammed shut behind him, so loud it made her flinch. Pike remembered how, some time later, she’d discovered his small temple to The Raven Queen destroyed. It had been torn apart, smashed into unrecognizable pieces._

_“I should have told you,” Vex said, her voice raw. “I should have told you, darling, it’s yours. I think I’ve always loved you. I always will. Forever.”_

_The admission came as no surprise. Though, to Pike, it felt a little as if Vex had stolen the words right out of her mouth; not that she would have ever spoken them. What did silly things like that matter now?_

_She hadn’t been able to save him._

_Pike wanted to comfort them. Vex and Keyleth dissolved before her, their grief more violent in its presentation than her own. Even Scanlan’s face was tear streaked. Grogs fists were tight at his sides, every muscle tensed. She could do nothing. Pike was frozen._

_She was shaking; the metal of her holy symbol broke the skin of her palm. She was incapable of even a soothing word, incapable of even this small thing._

_She couldn’t save him._

…

“I couldn’t save him,” Pike said, softly.

A single tear ran down her face. The rest of them had been shed long ago.

“Who?” Fjord prompted, as Allura settled a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault,” the wizard whispered.

“Percy,” Pike said, trying not to look at Molly, trying not to look at any of them. “He and Ripley were on a collision course ever since she helped the Briarwoods kill his family. He deserved his revenge, as much as it was destroying him. But she was a smart woman. I wasn’t there, but I was told they walked into a trap. Percy died. Ripley escaped. I couldn’t bring him back. For his soul was owed to a demon, you see… and I wasn’t strong enough to overcome that.”

“But he’s alive,” said Molly, something sharp in his voice.

“Maybe… and I wish I could be glad. But as Vax’s former matron used to say: sometimes, what’s dead should stay dead. We were all distraught, reckless and demoralized. But the twins took it too far. They broke rules that should never be broken and made deals that never should have been made. I’m not sure if the Percy we lost that day is the same one who came back.”

“Ripley told us she wanted us to destroy what she created,” said Caleb. “I think I finally understand what she meant.”

“Would they have come after us if you hadn’t been working with her?” Beau asked. “Be honest.”

“I—” Pike stammered. “Yes. I think so. You were all exhausted, so I don’t know if you remember the discussion we had after arriving in the bunkers. But if Percy had wanted to find Ripley he wouldn’t have shot Molly outright. There was something else. I’m just not sure what.”

“Vax’ildan didn’t even mention her,” said Caleb. “He was angry with me about something else, something I do not understand and cannot put into words.”

Beau grumbled a little, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, as the table fell into silence. Everyone was deep in thought, Pike included, as she attempted to decide on their next move.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Molly?” Nott asked. “From that constipated look on your face, I’m thinking it’s a yes.”

“I’m thinking about how fucking similar that story is to mine,” Molly said, “and about how much I hate that. Is that what you meant Nott? Were you thinking about how when I dug my way out of that grave I wasn’t the same person who got put in the ground, either?”

“I was,” the goblin responded, seemingly unfazed by his sudden hostility. 

“When I recognized Percy,” Molly continued, voice shaking a little, “it felt the same way it does when I remember an old ability. It felt bad in the same way it does when bits of Lucien start leaking through the cracks. I don’t like it. I don’t want to think about it.”

“I feel…” said Allura, “that we are missing some vital information.”

So, Molly told them; quickly and without flourish. To be fair, it wasn’t a long story to tell. The others could see how uncomfortable it made him, prompting him gently and answering Pike and Allura’s questions so he did not have to. It was a terrifying thought, that they could be connected to this further than just through Anna Ripley’s spell. The Mighty Nein was finding it more and more difficult to distance themselves from what was happening.

Some took this better than others.

Nott, for example, found herself facing down this universe with a stubborn defiance. She hated to say it, but she was starting to miss the Mollymauk who refused to have anything to do with his old self, who ignored it proudly. She had been wrong, she realized. She had argued that he should push further into the mystery of his past simply because it was his. Nott did not care about Vox Machina. And, desperately, did not want to think about them. She didn’t want to know which one of them was her, or which one of them was anyone else. Sometimes, in her opinion, it was better just to say, _this isn’t my story_ , and move on to make your own. Sure, they were trapped here, but they didn’t have to lean into it. She could see them doing it: Caleb, Molly, and even Jester.

Nott had zoned out for a moment, but the conversation seemed to have shifted onto next moves.

“We’re really banking on you having a plan,” said Fjord. “Still feels like there’s some stuff you’re holding back. We’re partners in this now. It’s time to lay it all on the table.”

“Well,” said Allura, eyes flickering to Pike then back again. “The way I see it, we have two options when it comes to taking down Vox Machina once and for all. One is practically impossible, and the second might break this universe even further.”

“Care to elaborate?” Beau asked.

“As powerful as I could see you all becoming some day, I don’t believe you’re quite up to the task of taking on Vox Machina head on, even with us at your side. The resistance just doesn’t have the firepower. They have taken down much more powerful foes.”

“So, the second option, then.” Fjord said.

“I think I know what you’re thinking, Allura,” Pike cut in. “You don’t have the first-hand experience with it that I do. I think this is something we need to discuss.”

“What other option is there?” Allura asked. “Wasn’t that always the plan? Even when we thought we would get an alternate Vox Machina. I agree with Ripley in what she said: ‘only the power that did this can undo it.’”

Pike was shaking her head. “I’m not saying I’m against it. Just…” she looked nervously at the group. “We should have had this talk already. They’re right, we should already have a plan. I’m sorry. But this will be easier if we can have just a moment to talk alone, to gather our thoughts and gain some direction.”

“Don’t understand why you can’t have this _talk_ in front of us,” said Beau, crossing her arms.

“Please,” Pike begged. “We will be right back. I just want to make sure we’re the guides you deserve, that we’re not leading you to destruction. I couldn’t save them. I won’t let it happen again.”

As the gnome rose to walk away, pulling Allura with her, Beau called after them, “all this shady shit isn’t making us trust you, you know?”

Still, none made any move to follow them.

“I think…” said Caleb, slowly, cautiously, “that there is a conversation that needs to be had, yes?” The question seemed to be addressed to Molly and there was something in Caleb’s demeanor that Nott did not like. “I think we need to understand what’s happening to us, if we want to survive this. We can’t just ignore it.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Molly sighed, sounding more defeated than anything else. 

“So,” said Caleb, “right now there are three of us who know our counterparts. Well, four if you count Pike and Yasha. Unless there is anyone else who has had an awakening and kept it to themselves…?”

He surveyed the table for a moment, almost suspiciously. Nott crossed her arms, trying to convey her disinterest and annoyance to Caleb without words.

When that didn’t work, she spoke, “if that’s really how any of this works. We could all be completely wrong, you know?”

“Three?” Molly asked, and Nott’s mood plummeted even further.

Caleb’s eyes flickered to Jester beside him. “Jester and I have been talking a little…”

“And I am pretty sure I know,” she said. “I think there was a part of me that knew when I met her; that Queen Vex’ahlia and I are connected. I mean…” she said, tone switching to something humorous, looking a bit more like ordinary Jester, “a Queen. It should have been obvious, really. I’ve always kind of known I was destined to be a queen…” she paused, “or a princess.”

Molly stifled a laugh behind his hand, muscles relaxing a little. “How did we not see it? Though I think you would have better taste, Jester. Honestly, some people have no idea how to decorate a castle.”

“What do you think is the nature of this?” Caleb asked. “It is weird, certainly… but I think it is time we pushed past that. What are we to them? I have been thinking about it an awful lot, but I was hoping you two would have some insight as well.”

Molly gave one of his trademark shrugs, and Jester made a show of screwing up her face in concentration.

“I think…” she said, “that without meaning to, I want to talk about her life in the past tense. Does that make sense? Like…” For a moment she seemed to struggle. “Like… _‘...when I had a brother...’_ you know? Even though I never have.”

“That is a very good way of putting it, Jester,” said Caleb. “I think that whatever this is not so much like we are heroes prophesised to defeat a beast, but more so something akin to reincarnation.”

“But they’re alive,” said Fjord, regarding the three of them with skepticism.

“The nature of the soul is not something that is well understood,” Caleb said. “I think that we are them, and they are us… but also not. Or maybe I am just losing my mind. That is why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sounds pretty insane to me,” said Nott, even though no one had asked her. Caleb was completely focused on Jester and Molly, and the knot in her gut tightened.

“I’m not a huge fan of the idea that I’m anything aside from me,” said Molly. “But I think I very much like the idea that we were meant to find each other. I always felt a little like that was the case. I missed the circus of course, but I always knew it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”

“When I was growing up,” said Jester, “I was alone an awful lot. All my life, it felt like something was missing. There was this hole, and I didn’t know what it was. Even when I found The Traveler, it didn’t really go away.”

She was looking at Caleb, a vulnerability in her eyes which she did not often show.

“I…” Caleb stammered, staring down at his hands as if he was afraid to look at her. “I have felt much the same way.”

That was the last straw.

“So, say all this shit is the truth?” Nott asked, baring her teeth, frustration mounting as she realized they couldn’t see it through her magical disguise. “Why do it the same way? Being the same person twice sounds awfully fucking boring. Of course, with you three I’m not even surprised… I suppose it will always have to be all about you.”

“Nott…” Caleb’s brow furrowed as he stared at her with concern. “That’s an awfully strange thing to say.”

“Shut up!” Nott snapped; because it was. It was a terribly strange thing to say, and Nott had no idea why she’d said it. Taking a breath, she steadied herself, remembered the true source of her anger. “I’m sorry... I care about you Caleb. I don’t want to see all the things I like about you get overwritten. I don’t want to lose—”

“Nott,” Caleb cut her off, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not becoming anyone different. And you won’t either. Think about it like we’re just finding more pieces of ourselves, or maybe just understanding the ones that have always been there. If Jester really was my twin sister in another lifetime I think I am better for having found her.”

“You’re right, Caleb,” Nott said, sliding deftly under the table so that she was out in the open, facing them all down with a manufactured calm. “I think you’re right about the nature of this. You’ve obviously had a sister sized hole in your life you’ve been trying to fill. You told me I was like a little sister to you, but I never felt like I quite fit the role, and now that you’ve found her you don’t need me anymore. I don’t give a shit about destiny, and you were the only reason I hung around with these numskulls. And… if we’ve all decided to start listening to this awakening _intuition_ of ours, there’s something telling me that my chances of survival will increase drastically if I set out on my own.”

More than half of that had been lies, and Nott prayed they did not look too hard at her face. She had never been a good liar.

“Nott wait!” Caleb scrambled to his feet. “This—”

“Goodbye,” she whispered, not looking at them.

Before they could stop her, she darted into a group of people, then rolled behind a table. They tried to follow her, but Nott was very good at disappearing when she wanted to. It was how she’d survived this long. Without much trouble she managed to make her way out to the alley behind the tavern. She couldn’t stay here long. They’d be looking for her. All she needed was some time to clear her head. Everything was too much, and it might not just have been her fear of Caleb replacing her. It might have been the things she’d seen in this city, things from another lifetime. As violently and stubbornly as Nott ignored this, it wasn’t going away.

She couldn’t abandon Caleb. She was incapable of that. She would win him back, keep the two of them safe no matter what—the rest of them be damned. But right now she just needed to get really fucking drunk.

So, keeping to the shadows, Nott slunk out into the city.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with the flashback!! I'm still high on the sweet sweet Glintshore angst.
> 
> ~  
> Exams are over!! I did-- _in fact_ \--die, but don't you worry, I will be writing from beyond the grave. I have to figure out how one _moves_ , and am starting my internship soon, but I think that will still leave me with lots of time to write. The main obstacle is actually Pillars of Eternity which I have been playing obsessively. (blame the cast) 
> 
> I make a lot of predictions while writing this fic. Sometimes I'm wrong, like with the prevalence of guns in Exandria, and the party's knowledge of them. Just pretend that in my version of the good universe Percy did a bit of a better job getting rid of them (poor guy) and that The Gentleman didn't have them. Sometimes however... I get it right. ;) Not only was I spot-on about where I wanted to go with Molly in this fic, but it actually worked out even better than I hoped!!!


	10. Palace of Pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting so long and it's been so long since I've posted I decided to awkwardly chop off the beginning. So, here that is.

Even in the daylight, when the lanterns had been extinguished and the atmosphere was less drunken, Scanland was like nowhere else Nott had ever been. It was hotter and drier, yes, but also artistic, the whole city beautifully constructed, like something expensive Nott would like to pocket. She could not steal an entire city, but there were many things within this city to steal. It was overwhelming. Instead of stores with doors and walls, here everything was spread out across tightly packed tables, always surrounding by shifting crowds. She had been to markets before, of course, but the bazaar was something different, something more. Then, there was the fact that the people here draped themselves in jewelry; large stones and heavy chains that would have looked out of place in Wildmount.

Nott had the itch, bad. But miraculously she managed to suppress it. Cause a commotion now and it would lead them straight to her. She’d drink and steal, do everything she could to get her mind off what had transpired, but first she needed a bit of distance. As she wound her way through the stalls she began to feel worse and worse. She wasn’t completely sure what had come over her. The jealousy had been building for some time, though that wasn’t quite the right word for it. Fear might have been more appropriate. But there was another element to Nott’s decision, which she could not put into words. She hated it because it was very possible she was being influenced by the same thing she was angry at them for being influenced by.

She hoped Jester didn’t think this was her fault. She didn’t hate the tiefling. Aside from Caleb, she was the first friend Nott had found in The Mighty Nein. She was genuinely pleasant to be around, which could only be said for the others on a good day. Somehow, that made it worse. Because if she really was Caleb’s spiritual twin, or something, then Nott had been a poor substitute indeed.

Leaving the bazaar, Nott saw something odd. It was a few blocks away, cutting across the street and through a break in the sandstone buildings on either side. As she drew closer, Nott saw that it was some sort of cylindrical structure, half embedded in the ground. The city had incorporated it like a wound healing around a large splinter. A hole had been cut through to the other side, the interior nothing more than a hollow tube with empty windows. It was clear now that this had once been a tower. It had been quite a tall one at that, as Nott was unable to see where it ended on either side.

It must have been horizontal for quite some time, as hearty desert vines had begun to climb up the sides, pushing through cracks in the stone and metal. The buildings it cut through were slightly awkward in shape, like they had been rebuilt after this gargantuan structure had fallen upon them. Why it had not been removed, Nott could only guess, but she did not linger, pushing forward to see what other wonders this city had in store for her.

She did not have to look long. Coming around the corner, her eyes were practically assaulted by a structure which was simultaneously hideous and captivating. It was like someone had taken three architectural styles and shoved them together haphazardly. There were the traditional domes and gentle curves of marquesan architecture, but some towers sported the sharp angles and imposing spikes of a place like Whitestone. Then, there was the fact that the whole monstrosity gave off the overall impression of something cheap and manufactured like a cheesy theatre or carnival tent, everything either golden or a rich purple. It was also dripping in magic. Pink bubbles rose from a decorative smokestack. Rainbow orbs of light danced around the towers and domes. Every once in a while, a storm of glitter would fall down towards the entrance, stopping before it reached the ground and flying back to whence it had come.

Nott was stuck somewhere between being captivated by it, and the desire to flee. She had always been fascinated by magic. That was why she had been so drawn to Caleb in the beginning. But never before had she seen it used like this. Above the door, burning in arcane purple flame, were the words: _The Meat Man’s Palace of Pleasure_. Then, below it in slightly smaller flame letters: _casino, club, lounge, and concert hall_.

This place was many things: terrifying, magical, massive, but above anything else, it was shiny. Nott did not have it in her to resist. Patrons draped in fineries moved in and out, even at this time of day. Putting on her most unassuming posture, Nott slunk towards the door. The bouncers did not stop her, if they noticed her at all. One of the five stationed near the entrance was an ogre who had been fitted with a comically small hat and matching bowtie.

There was no shortage of mirrors in the expansive gambling hall into which she entered. Nott had to keep looking at them just to remind herself she still looked like a halfling. It eased her anxiety considerably, seeing an unfamiliar brunette with pale skin and green eyes looking back at her.

The floor was carpeted in purple velvet, the high ceilings painted with expansive murals depicting half-naked beauties of varying species, naughty bits barely concealed behind flowing fabrics and wisps of cloud. Nott did a double take as she noticed one which bore an uncanny resemblance to Pike. Throughout the large room, patrons played games of cards and dice, or pushed buttons on golden clockwork machines. Nott danced between the tables, snagging whatever she could get her hands on: a champagne flute from an unattended tray, a pile of gold beside a halfling who had gotten too drunk, dice and tokens all stylized with the manufactured glamour of this place, and the glittering bobble off a woman’s shoe.

Nott was in heaven. Before she’d tasting this miracle drink, “quality” had been an irrelevant factor, but the bubbles danced across her tongue in such a way that it would be blasphemy to mix it into the slurry in her flask. Then there was the music. Flutes, violins, and a softly muffled voice floated from a raised stage at one end of the room. Nott’s body moved with it. It felt almost as if she owed the smoothness of her thefts and the deftness of her fingers at least partially to the notes.

Grabbing an entire bottle of the golden elixir from a tray, Nott dived behind the statue in the centre of the room. Nestled between its legs, she only now noticed that it depicted the same female gnome whose statue they’d passed when they first arrive in the city. This one seemed to be made of solid gold, playing a violin instead of a flute, but it was unmistakably the same person. The multi-coloured dancing lights that were everywhere in this room moved around her head like a halo.

Nott suddenly decided she’d had enough of this room. She’d seen the size of the building. This was only a fraction of the wonders this place surely contained. She headed for the stairs that encircled the gambling floor, going up a level so she was beside the musicians. Where to next? Club? Lounge? Concert hall? Up here, patrons chatted at tables, sipping alcohol or tea. The room was not full, by any means. After all, it was still afternoon. Because of this, Nott was easily able to pick out a familiar figure who had just entered the hall.

Pike was here. She was scanning the room like she was looking for something, and Nott was fairly sure she was that something. Surely The Mighty Nein weren’t far behind, and Nott wasn’t ready to face them, not yet. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? She was fairly sure half of them didn’t care for her anyways. Facing them meant acknowledging the truth of the situation they were in. It meant acknowledging things like fate and destiny and examining parts of herself that Nott had never cared to examine.

So, Nott slipped into the closest hallway, trying to regain the excitement and wonder of exploring this place. The passage was wide and occasionally lined with couches. It was lit with a dim, red glow which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Eventually, she exited onto a mostly empty balcony of a large circular room, which was much taller than the last. 

Of course, there was music here as well, but this was more sensual, a heavy brass sound whose source she could not determine. Level after level of balconies stretched up the tower above Nott, platforms and catwalks crisscrossing the central space like a spiderweb. The club was not well attended at this time of day, and the only patron in Nott’s immediate vicinity was an ageing human man attended by two scantily clad elven woman, deep in one of the booths. Nott moved from shadow to shadow, and they did not seem to notice her.

One floor below was the ground level, mostly composed of an empty dancefloor. And to Nott’s horror, she saw Fjord talking to the bartender. It didn’t look like he was ordering a drink.

She darted away from the edge, but in her hurry, she hadn’t been paying attention, skittering right across the path of a shirtless earth-genasi man wheeling a cart covered in bottles. He let out a yelp as the cart titled, bottles crashing onto the floor. Fjord heard the commotion even over the music, and as he spun in the direction of the noise Nott knew he’d seen her. Grabbing one of the still intact bottles, Nott raced for the stairs. On the bright side, he seemed to be alone. Up and up she wound, praying that Fjord would become winded in his attempt to pursue her. If he had said anything she had not heard it, such was the volume of the music and the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.

Nott eventually reached a level that was slightly more populated than the others. Some here were dressed more casually, in loose robes. Some were without shoes. Nott wondered if maybe some of them lived here, somewhere in this massive structure. Hooka smoke hung in the air and dancers moved their hips lazily to the ever-present music, elevated on raised pedestals. Nott pulled back against a wall and watched. There was one door leading off this level, and as one of the dancers finished her routine, she stepped down and headed for it. Whatever was behind was partially obscured by hanging purple curtains. Draining half of her second stolen bottle, Nott crept towards it. Surely if there was going to be any treasure truly worth stealing, it was here. The dancer was certainly wearing some exquisite rocks. And there was this beautifully carved flower in her hair that Nott just had to have.

Through the curtains was not a room, but a bridge. It was a short bridge, walled in by crystal windows which gave a beautiful view of Scanland. The bridge led between the tops of two towers. Miraculously, the dancer did not look back to see Nott as she crept after her. There was no way Fjord could find here, Nott thought, as a bit of worry began to creep up. She also did not want to get into too much trouble. She was in a reckless mood, it was true, but surely whoever lived up here would not take kindly to uninvited guests.

For a moment Nott considered turning back, but the sound of approaching voices from the other side of the curtain drove her on. As fast as she could, Nott scampered the rest of the way across the bridge and ducked around the doorframe before she could be seen. A comically large potted flower provided her good cover. However, as she stepped into the room, a tingling sensation spread throughout her body. It was not uncomfortable and soon it passed, but it still put Nott even more on edge than she had already been. She'd just hide here for a bit, she told herself. It was too dangerous to keep exploring.

The room was partially divided by a screen, and the people who entered after Nott headed in that direction. Nott could only see their shadows as they settled down onto cushions, smoking and laughing. It had seemed impossible, but this room was even more opalescent than the rest of the building, encrusted with gold and jewels. Magical glitter hung in a cloud near the ceiling, emitting twinkling light. Just across the room, displayed on a table, was a little onyx statue of a dog. It was so cute, sitting there in the open, and Nott just had to have it. She'd just grab it real quick and head back for the bridge.

Ever so softly, steps muffled by the carpet, Nott made her way to it. She was just reaching for it when there was a yell from behind her. An elven woman wearing nothing but a silken shall around her waist stood in a nearby archway. She yelled a few things in marquesan, staring at her fearfully.

Nott yelped, clutching the dog to her chest. She was about to bolt for the door when two massive, purple fingers pinched the back of her cloak and lifted her into the air.

“Let me go!” Nott yelled, feet kicking helplessly. “Please? I’ll give the dog back. I didn’t steal anything else except for liquor, I swear.”

The hand moved back through the archway into a larger, high-ceilinged room. It seemed to be some sort of bedroom, massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Nott didn’t take in much more than that, so desperate was she to get away. Struggling even harder, Nott squirmed out of her cloak. She dropped to the floor in a crouch, leaving it behind.

There was a snort of laughter, and the hand slammed down towards her. Nott managed to roll out of the way just in time, as the ground shook a little from the impact.

“Get back here!” someone called. It was a male voice, dripping with honey, almost like a song—even in anger.

Nott didn’t look, dashing for the few stairs that led back up to the entrance. The hand came at her again, but Nott was fast, ducking under it and scrambling up one of the room’s many bookshelves. She sent tomes and scrolls crashing to the ground as she desperately tried to stay out of its reach. It came up from below like it intended to scoop her up, so Nott launched herself at a decorative chandelier. She just barely made it, fingers closing around one of the bedazzled sconces.

Nott was going to use the momentum of the swing to make it to the next one, but the voice spoke again. It cut through her adrenaline like the softest sword, and Nott’s muscles began to relax a little.

“I said… get back here. Goblin.”

He was angry, Nott could tell, but there was something about his voice that made her want to trust him, or at least take a moment to see who he was. And she could not disobey.

“Let go,” he ordered, so she did, falling directly into the massive, purple palm. It closed around her, holding her in a fist that was just a bit too tight to be comfortable.

Nott saw herself, reflected in a massive mirror. A goblin stared back at her, the hat of disguise still on her head, but the halfling visage somehow banished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. It wasn't my original plan. It's a bit of an awkward place to cut it off but there was really nowhere else. It was the best I could find, and it helps build tension. ;)
> 
> I really just wanted to get something out. I'm already a fair ways into the next chapter, so that should be here sooner rather than later. If I'd kept it as one it would have been rather long. So you've got this chapter of what amounts to mostly aesthetic (hey, I warned you in the tags) and me hinting at things I may or may not ever explicitly tell you. 
> 
> I have, in fact, been playing a lot of Pillars of Eternity 2 (I finished the first one and moved on.) I also moved and started my internship. Soo... it has been forever. Whoops. I am also now playing in a dnd campaign as well as DMing my old one online. I jumped in at level 11 but I'm loving it!! (I play a fey warlock. Warlocks are my favourite class.) 
> 
> What I'm trying to say is, I've been busy but still committed to this fic because I love it!


	11. Nott the Last

Nott’s captor was a gnome. He sat on the edge of a fourposter bed large enough to hold ten people. He wore a loose silk robe, barely synched around the waist, and exposing a substantial patch of curling brown chest-hair. He glared at her, through her, and Nott did not think she would have been able to move, even without the giant hand holding her in place.

“So,” he said, “looks like I didn’t get all of you. I’m not really surprised. It’s impossible to get rid of vermin completely. It’s why we’ve still got mice, and mosquitoes.” He moved across the room, the hand bobbing along after him. “Did you come here to kill me? To get revenge for your kind? I have to admit, I’m a little impressed. I wouldn’t have expected you to make it this far.”

He slumped into a large chair, really more like a throne. From the table in front of him, he picked up the hose of a hooka and took a pull. Wisps of smoke curled from his mouth, smelling somehow both sweet and acidic. Nott remembered a similar smell clinging to Molly’s clothes. He may have been waiting for a response, but Nott couldn’t speak.

“Do you want to know how I know I’m getting old?” he asked. “The things that used to excite me just don’t anymore. At this point I’ve killed so many goblins it’s just not special.” He signed dramatically, taking another puff. “I suppose it was never about it being fun. It was about making the world just a little bit better with every one of your kind who left it. But do you want to know a secret, before I kill you?” He clearly took her silence as yes. “I don’t give a shit about the world anymore.”

Trying to look at anything but him, Nott’s eyes settled on a framed painting, leaning against the wall. It wasn’t mounted, half obscured by a stray pillow, but she recognized its subjects all the same. This gnomish man stood beside another gnome, a blonde who could only have been Pike. They both looked so happy, for a moment Nott doubted it really was them. But of course it was. The pieces slid into place and Nott realized how stupid she’d been.

“You’re one of them,” she squeaked, “you’re Vox Machina.”

Confusion flickered across his face. “I certainly was, once. Whether I still am depends on whether or not you believe Vox Machina is still a thing that exists. Opinions vary on the matter.” He was staring at her even more intently than before. “Why did you r—”

He was cut off by a commotion coming from the next room.

“Oh shit…” exclaimed someone, in a familiar drawl. “That’s some hell of a magical ward you’ve got there. Sorry for trying to deceive ya’ll as to my identity. I don’t mean you no harm. I’m just here to retrieve my friend.”

“Fjord!” Nott yelled. “Run! Get out of here!”

“Speak of the devil,” he said, appearing in the archway. His eyes scanned the room, processing. “Oh boy…” he sighed, and Nott could see his fear, no matter how well concealed. “Mr. Shorthalt, I don’t come here meaning any harm. My little friend can be rather dumb at times but she’s my friend all the same. And I can assure you she also doesn’t want to pick a fight. I’m begging you, just let us leave here unharmed. We’ll be out of your hair and saving everyone an awful lot of trouble.”

“How polite,” said Scanlan, “I appreciate that. The problem is… Fjord, was it? Your _friend_ is a goblin, and as decreed by Vox Machina, goblins, as well as all other goblinoid creatures, are illegal. I’d ask how you could possibly not know this, but I’m starting to get the feeling you’re not from around here.”

“I’m actually well aware of your _protocol_ in regards to goblins,” said Fjord, moving towards Nott, slowly and cautiously.  “Though… I admit, I was told about it rather recently. Genocide is a pretty heavy-handed approach. I thought you might consider being merciful and letting just this one go… seeing as Nott’s not much like other goblins.”

Scanlan beckoned for Fjord to come closer, pointing to one of the other chairs at the table. “Come. Shit down. I’m not going to kill either of you yet.” With a snap of his fingers, a door materialized in the previously empty arch. The purple hand deposited Nott in a chair but stayed hovering nearby like a guard. “Running won’t do you any good. I can kill you both whenever I want so you might as well sit.” 

Fjord complied, sitting at the far side of the round table, opposite Scanlan’s throne. “Nott…” he hissed, as the goblin made a move as if she intended to dart for the windows. “… don’t.”

“It took me a moment to put two and two together,” said Scanlan, “and I’ll be honest that I was unreasonably high when I got the message, and that I wasn’t much in the mood to know what they were all freaking out about this time… but it seems the trouble came to me. I think I know who the two of you are.” His eyes flickered to Fjord, then back to Nott. “How does it feel?” he asked her. “To find yourself in a universe where you very well might be the last of your kind?”

Scanlan took another long pull from the hooka, staring Nott down through narrowed eyes.

“I think you did the right thing,” said Nott; simply, plainly. 

“What?” Scanlan and Fjord asked in unison.

“You did what needed to be done,” she elaborated. “Goblins are terrible, evil creatures, and I’m sure this world is much better without them.”

“Nott…” Fjord breathed, and there was such hurt in his eyes that for a moment Nott felt bad for her honesty. “I know your childhood was unpleasant, but genocide? Whether a race gets to exist or not ain’t something people just get to decide. And where does it stop? Goblins were first but what’s next? What else will Exandria be better off without?”

Scanlan was still looking at Nott as if he hadn’t even noticed Fjord was speaking. “It’s good to know you accept your death so graciously.”

 “I mean…” she said, “I know I’m the exception, but I don’t expect you to just take my word on that. I’ve never met even one other goblin who wasn’t terrible so I don’t really have much to back up my claim.”

“Damn.” said Scanlan, raising both eyebrows. “You’re right. I am still going to kill you… just not quite yet.” He offered to hooka hose to Fjord. “You want some? You’re the first interesting thing to happen in a while. I don’t want to say I’ve been bored, seeing as Scanland is just so perfectly amazing. But things have begun to lose their luster, if you will.”

Fjord took the hose, mechanically, but did not raise it to his lips.

“Are you here all by yourself, Fjord?” Nott asked, remembering how she’d seen Pike in the gambling hall.

“Kind of… the others can’t be far. We spread out looking for you, since no one had a damn idea where you’d gone.” Fjord ground his teeth, squeezing the spout in his hand before setting it down on the table. “So Scanlan…” he looked their host right in the eye for the first time since entering the room. “How does one get bored in a place like this? Run out of goblins to kill?”

Scanlan threw his head back and laughed. There was something uncanny about him which made it impossible to tell if the emotions were genuine or not.

“What’s the point of having everything if you’ve got no one to share it with?” he asked. “Sure, I’ve got an entourage of as many beautiful men, women, whatever, as I want… but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t have any family. And my friends… they’re all even lamer now than they used to be, not that they ever come by to hang out anyways. Cherish your adventuring days, that’s my advice to you. Because soon enough some or all of you will be dead. And if you aren’t… you have this to look forward to. Really, I’m doing you a favour. Better to die now before everyone gets too invested.”

“Sounds like you’re not on the best terms with the rest of Vox Machina,” Fjord commented.

“Meh.” Scanlan gave an exaggerated shrug. “We’re fine. Just because the stick that’s up Percy’s ass got an upgrade doesn’t mean we’re not on speaking terms.”

As if on cue, there was a deafening crash, coming from the door to the room. Scanlan was on his feet in an instant, purple hand positioned halfway across the room. He was fast, but Nott noticed the slight glaze to his eyes. Whatever he was smoking was strong enough to take Molly out of commission. Maybe they had a chance.

Another crash, and the door shattered inwards. Through the chunks of stone and ripples of arcane energy, they saw the petit form of Pike. Her oversized gauntlets glowed faintly with focused power.

“Pike!” Scanlan called, and his voice was soft, like he hadn’t had enough breath left to say it. “You could have just knocked, you know? You’re welcome here… always. Though, I must admit, seeing you vanquish that door so easily really turns me on.”

Pike looked right past him, to Nott and Fjord. “You’re alive. Oh, thank Sarenrae. Nott…”

It was surreal, but Scanlan seemed to wince a little at her words, pulling the overwhelming aura he exuded back into himself.

“I was just spending some quality time with your new friends,” he said, recovering quickly.

Nott tried to get up but realized she could not. She was stuck in her chair, held by some external force.

“Care to join us?”

“We’re leaving, Scanlan,” she said.

“But it’s been so long,” he pleaded. “Tell you what. Come and sit, give me the gift of your presence for a little while, and I will consider not killing the goblin. Will that make you happy?”

“No,” she said, but somehow it sounded like an agreement.

There were yells and the sound of many pairs of feet. Cramming into the room outside, as fast as they could fit through the bridge, came wave after wave of guards. There was everything from halflings to ogres.”

“Stop!” Scanlan called. It carried easily over the racket, and they all came to an immediate halt. “I’m alright, for the moment. Pike is an honoured guest. You may all return to your duties. Well… actually… don’t go too far but give us some privacy.”

The guards complied, and as the din subsided, Pike made her way slowly to the table. She sat stiffly in a chair next to Fjord, armour clanking a little.

“It’s been so long,” said Scanlan. And, looking at his face, Nott couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. There was a deep intensity in his brown eyes, as well as a slight tearful sheen; though it could have just been the drugs. Still, it was impossible to look away from him as he spoke. “I haven’t seen you since the day you left. Most of the others have run into you… I know. But it seems fate has been trying its hardest to keep us apart.”

Fjord and Nott could not see it, but behind Pike’s eyes a memory was playing, and behind Scanlan’s as well. It haunted them both, dragged them back, to tears and screaming.

…

_“What did you do?” Pike yelled. She was shaking, crying hot, angry tears and hating herself for them._

_The airship smelled like black powder and iron. Scanlan’s tunic was spattered with blood, his hair matted with sweat and gore. Percy’s face was hidden behind his mask, but Pike could feel him staring at her._

_“Say something!” she screamed; begged._

_“I’m just trying to make the world a better place,” Scanlan said. “I want it to be safe for you, and for the children we’ll have one day.”_

_“You’re delusional!” Pike’s hand went to her mace, but she was shaking too violently to hold it straight. “How many?” she whispered, almost afraid to ask._

_“Pike…” Scanlan soothed. “It’s not a big deal, really. It was just another job. Just another dungeon.”_

_“I asked you how many.”_

_A single tear ran down Scanlan’s cheek as, for the first time in his life, it appeared he had nothing to say._

_“Let’s all just take a deep breath, calm down a little, and have this conversation like civilized people,” Percy said. A gloved had settled on the hooked beak of his mask. As he pulled it off, wisps of black smoke curled out, dissipating in the air. “It was a couple thousand, or so. I haven’t really been keeping the best of records.”_

_Pike screamed: in anger and fear, in grief and regret. This was not the first atrocity that had been committed under the banner of Vox Machina. But for Pike, it would be the last._

…

“Are you crying?” Scanlan asked. “I’m sorry.”

“Not this time,” said Pike, and she spoke the truth. Her eyes were hard, like shards of ice.

The tension was so thick that Nott was having trouble breathing. A bead of sweat dripped off her nose. She looked over at Fjord. His fists were tight on the edges of his chair.

_“You’re stuck too, huh?”_ she messaged him. _“What are we going to do?... You can reply to this message.”_

_“Well, I suppose that’s on Pike. But be ready for a fight. Though he seems a tad more apologetic than the others. Maybe we can use that.”_

“Are you going to kill us?” Nott asked. “Pike seems to really like us, so she’d probably hate you even more if you did that. Just… you know… a suggestion… to not do that.”

“If you wish to kill them,” said Pike, “you will have to kill me as well.” 

“I couldn’t,” said Scanlan. “You have to know that. I would never hurt you. Never. It doesn’t matter what any of the others say.”

“Really? I’m an enemy to the rest of Vox Machina. My last few encounters with them have shown me that.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m done with them. I’m done with Percy’s shit. Sometimes I’m so lonely it feels like acid’s eating through me, from the center outwards. They don’t notice. They don’t care.”

Nott didn’t want to be here. She hated how familiar the words sounded, how they were a distorted echo of the tangle of thoughts which had caused her series of bad decisions this afternoon.

Pike did not respond, but Scanlan continued his rant all the same. There was a desperate speed to his words. It was like he had been bottling his thoughts and feelings up for far too long and now they overflowed. “Percy’s a manipulative piece of work. He always has been but it’s only getting worse. I was in a bad place after…” he faltered. “Percy knew that. He gave me the resources for my crusade, helped me like he did, not because he cared about me, but because he wants to control us. I hate being manipulated. It’s my game too, and he thinks he can outplay me? How dare he exploit the emotions I have for my mother, for Kaylie? Those are mine! They’re all I have.” Scanlan was breathing hard. He settled back in his throne, clasping his hands and taking a moment to calm himself. “I think he may have been the one to suggest our _purge_ in the first place.”

“Take some responsibility for your own actions, Scanlan,” said Pike. “Percy didn’t control your mind, your choices. He didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I begged you not to go down that road. Do you remember? I begged and argued, but you were set in your need for revenge. That wasn’t because of anything Percy said.”

“Really? Because he’s pretty much the god of revenge at this point.”

“Take responsibility.”

There was a long silence, that Scanlan broke. “Still, my point stands. He has the rest of Vox Machina wrapped around his finger, and I refuse to be a part of that anymore. Maybe we would still be walking this path if we’d left him to get torn apart in The Abyss, but he sure as hell accelerated the process. Remember when he brought Grog back that sword?”

“I do,” said Pike, staring intently at her hands.

“Sure you raised your concerns but you were oh so quick to concede. Why was that?”

“I was lying to myself, then,” said Pike, “about everything. Percy said he could control it now, that he wouldn’t let it hurt Grog. He was telling the truth. Just…”

“Now he’s nothing more than Percy’s bloodthirsty guard dog?” Scanlan said, with venom. “It makes me sad. There was so much more to Grog than just killing. There was booze, and woman, and uh… mayonnaise…” 

“And heart,” said Pike. Now the sheen of tears was visible behind her eyes, Scanlan finally aiming a blow that pierced her shields. “He had more heart than any of us. I know you know that, Scanlan. You love him too. If he’d wanted a life feeding blood to a blade he would have stayed with his herd. Maybe Percy won’t let Craven Edge rip out his soul, but it’s in his head. I know that, the way he is now, he wouldn’t think twice about killing Wilhelm and..” she took a shuttering breath, “and that feels like he’s gone, like I’ve lost him again.”

While the two gnomes were oblivious, Nott noticed that Fjord was leaning forward in his chair, an intense look of concentration on his face.

“I uh…” he started, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “What is it? That sword… I mean,” he clarified, as they turned to look at him. “What I mean to say is. I remember that when I ran into Grog, it struck me as mighty strange. Just… something about it. So, I was curious as to what exactly it is.”

Annoyance flickered across Scanlan’s face at the interruption, but Pike answered him softly, some of the tension leaving her as she looked away from Scanlan.

“It’s a magical artifact,” she said, “as powerful as it is dangerous. It calls itself Craven Edge, and it is always hungry.”

“Hungry?” Fjord asked, and it might have been because Nott knew him so well, but it sounded like his voice was half an octave higher.

“Yes. For every life Grog took with it, it made him stronger, but it was never full. Craven edge wants nothing more than to consume, life after life, never stopping, not letting Grog rest, until… it ripped the soul from his body. It makes Grog powerful, yes, but something evil like that will consume its master as well.”

“You brought him back too?” Nott asked. “Like Percy? Did he come back messed up?”

Pike shook her head. “Yes, we brought him back. But he came back much the same… better, even. We hid that sword away, I thought he was free of it.”

It looked like Fjord’s spirit had left his body and had gotten lost wandering in the astral sea, he stared right past Pike, focusing on nothing.

_“Earth to Fjord,”_ Nott messaged. _“It’s not the time for whatever the hell this is. Come on man. You can reply to this message.”_

Fjord did not reply.

“Until Percy went and got it,” said Scanlan, with a sigh. “If we’re being completely candid with each other, I have to admit that if Grog wasn’t the bitch of both Percy and a sword, and hung out here with me in Scanland instead, I would be much less disenfranchised with the whole Vox Machina experience. Maybe my motives are partially selfish, but if it wasn’t clear already, I want to propose a deal… of sorts; an alliance.”

Pike was already shaking her head, but Nott couldn’t understand why. Where they not desperately in need of help? They were a band of nobodies facing off against gods.  

“I still love you, Pike,” he said, reaching towards her as she drew away. “Always. I know Percy wants you dead, and if that’s what he wants, it is what the others want as well. I can’t let that happen. And I want my friends back, you and the rest. I know the resistance won’t forgive me, but right now we share a goal. I’ll kill Percy… if you want. He’s underestimated me, but I can do it. Believe me. Cut off the head and Vox Machina will lose its teeth.”

“I will not fight beside you ever again,” said Pike. “I will not bring my allies under your sway. No honied words or half-baked plans will change that, Scanlan. If he intends to kill me, let him try.”

“But--!” Nott squeaked, before Scanlan mercifully cut her off.

“Is it because you love him?” he asked, voice flat. “Still? Don’t look so surprised. We all knew. It was why you let it go as far as it did before you tried to stop us.”

“I made mistakes,” said Pike, voice low. “I was a bystander for too long. Percy… the Percy I loved, died. I couldn’t save him. And something else came back.”

Scanlan threw his head back and laughed. “Oh gods, you really believe that, don’t you? All that talk, and you’re still lying to yourself. This was always who he was. All the trip through The Abyss did was remove some inhibitions and give him a powerup. He was crazy before, it just brought it to the surface. I should have destroyed that fucking gun years ago. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had.”  

“What choice do we have?” Fjord asked. “They’re all monsters. But sometimes survival is more important than justice, and I would much rather have only five of them to deal with. What chance do we have to take out Percy without him?”

“At least one of you can see reason.” Scanlan gave Fjord an approving nod. “You seem bright. I like you, despite your choice in company.” 

“What about killing me?” Nott asked. “If it helps… I live every day of my life trying to escape this skin.”

Scanlan raised an eyebrow. “You are the most peculiar was goblin I have ever met… Nott, was it? Not that I’ve talked to many. If I have done my job right, then you will be the last of your kind. And I think I can live with that.”

“As can I,” said Nott. “I can live well with that title.”

Pike bit her lip, looking at them with a tortured expression. “Trust me. To make this deal is like signing your soul away in the hells. Oh Scanlan… I wish… I wish I could trust a single thing you’ve said.”

“He seems pretty serious,” Nott pointed out.

“He does, doesn’t he? It’s so easy to feel his emotions: his anger, his pain, his sadness. It’s always been that way. I don’t expect you two to believe me. I’ve learned this lesson the hard way over and over again, and still I want desperately to believe him. Scanlan has said all the right things since we got here. I don’t think there is any way this conversation could have gone better.”

“I’m flattered,” Scanlan said, hurt barely concealed. Or maybe, dripped subtly and intentionally into his tone. That was the thing, it was impossible to know which.

“He will always say the best words in the right order,” Pike said. “You have to go in with that expectation, try to see past them, as impossible as that is. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m working on it.”

“So he has his own motives,” said Fjord. “He ain’t hidden that from us.” He looked at Scanlan. “One job. One murder and we’re all enemies again. I’m prepared for that.”

“If that’s what Pike wants,” Scanlan said. “You can stick around. I like you; you’re welcome here. The invitation doesn’t extend to the goblin but I am curious about the rest of your friends.”

“Please Fjord,” Pike said. “I know you’re smarter than that.”

“A generous offer,” Fjord nodded politely. “But… Genocide tends to be a deal breaker for me when it comes to friendships. However, we were talking business.”

“Do you really intend to make this an executive decision, Pike?” Scanlan asked. “Maybe you should let me meet the rest of this fascinating band of adventures so that I can make my case. We can put it to a vote. It seems fitting, turning to democracy on the matter of removing a king.”

Fjord made a noise at the back of his throat, and this time Nott understood Pike’s head shake. The three of them were neck deep in this, but that didn’t mean the others had to be. Then again, if they took Scanlan’s deal, chances were he would meet them eventually.

“How about this,” said Fjord, giving Pike a pointed look as she opened her mouth to interject. “As a show of good faith, how about you give us something up front. Nothing big; just some information. Hearin’ the pair of you talkin’ has been mighty interesting. You have an interesting inside perspective when it comes to Vox Machina. I want to know what we’re up against, in your words. Give us a summary of who they’ve become.”

“All the dirt!” Nott piped up.

“It’ll give you a chance to vent, and us some valuable insight. Then… we’ll come back around to talking about this deal.”

“I would be absolutely delighted,” Scanlan beamed.

“Nott and I both know bits and pieces of who they were in our world, but I get the sense that won’t help us much here.”

Scanlan shrugged. “That’s a little bit out of my sphere of knowledge. I’m not sure where you came from, past that it was some experiment of Ripley’s. Maybe you give me a bit of information in return? But that’s after… let me tell you about the fall of Vox Machina. We were great, once, heroes of the realm.” He gave a dramatic and sarcastic flourish.

“We made deals with demons and dragons, hid as cities fell, harboured dangerous and powerful objects until they came to bite us in the ass. But through death and blood, desperation and loss, we managed to harden enough to kill our way out. But you don’t care about the plot… you want to know about the characters. I think we’ve already pretty much covered Grog; a proud barbarian and good friend of mine reduced to a guard dog by that fucking sword. We could be having a hell of a time partying across Exandria with how loaded we are, if he wasn’t so tied to drab and boring Whitestone by King Percy’s skill at finding things for him to murder.” For a moment, Scanlan looked very much like a sulking child, lower lip puffed out.

“Then, there’s Percy himself. Again, I feel like we’ve covered most of it. He always had a thing for revenge, used to have a pact with a demon who specialized in it. When he died that demon collected, was planning on having a jolly old time torturing his soul for eternity. But the twins were having none of that. We’ll get to them in a second. All powered up, they charged down to The Abyss and found the torn-up remnants of Percy’s soul. So, as one does, instead of letting him rest once and for all somewhere more pleasant, they taped him back together using the pulverised remains of the same demon who tormented him, and shoved him back in a body saying, ‘ _hey, there will be absolutely no negative repercussions from this.’_ ”

Nott and Fjord were captivated. Scanlan certainly was a storyteller, voice animated and hand movements dynamic. Pike was staring at her feet, looking pained, though the other two were too enraptured to notice.

“So,” Scanlan continued. “You must be wondering. Who are these twins who managed to carve themselves a path into the depth of The Abyss and kill a demon grown powerful on years of Percival feeding it souls?”

“We’ve met them,” said Nott. “Queen Vex’ahlia was in Whitestone and Vax’ildan came out of Caleb’s dreams.”

“Shut up. Don’t interrupt. I’m telling a story. From run-away, to lady, to queen, good old Vex has always been on the path to success. On the list of dumbasses who like Percy too much—which will be our last three Vox Machina members—she is the biggest offender. The time after Percy died was a difficult one for all of us. We felt we had enemies closing in from all sides: dragons, devils, cultists, Anna Ripley. For Vex, however, Percy had been the one thing on which she’d hung her hopes of a life after the darkness. So, when she lost him she lost just a bit of her mind. Her psychosis is a very specific one, but trust me, it’s there. Vex grew up _wanting_. She wanted respect, money, love, a castle full of children. Now, she hoards any semblance of these things the same way that a dragon does: tearing them from others, piling them haphazardly, and killing anyone who might threaten them. The truth of her life is a dark mirror of the dream world she lives in.”

“She does have a castle,” Fjord pointed out. “It just doesn’t have the best ambiance.” 

“Yes. And Percy gives her money to count and those terrible clockwork bears to call her children. In turn, she is the most fierce of all bodyguards. When Percy died, Vex felt as if she had lost her heart. She was mad with grief and desperate for power, so she sought out the one being she felt would understand her. Just like her, the archfey with which she made a pact is a possessive, greedy, jealous creature, obsessed with the concept of romantic love. He was the patron of heartbreak, a lonely wretched thing which welcomed her back with open arms despite her previous rejection of him. When Percy came back they killed him together and Vex stole what little remained of his power for herself, along with some of his madness. Truly a fairy-tale ending in the feywild, though it doesn’t change the fact that Vex abandoned Vox Machina at the moment we needed each other the most.” Scanlan’s eyes flickered to Pike for a moment, nervous.

“We didn’t know how to find her. Vax did not take this well. To be fair, he had been having… difficulties with his deity for some time. Vex and Percy were not the only trigger.” Scanlan took an unusually long pause, seeming to think about his next words for the first time since the torrent of information had began. “For these last two, my analysis will be a little less complete, I’m afraid. I’m not really sure what Vax is… anymore.” He shifted his attention to Nott and Fjord. “Did she tell you what we did to the gods?”

“To—to the gods?” Fjord asked, incredulous.  

“Guess it wasn’t relevant?” Scanlan asked Pike, eyebrow raised. “I’m not the best person to explain it. I’m still not completely sure what happened. I was sky high for half of it and even if I hadn’t been I’m sure it would have gone over my head. It’s all a confusing blur, so you should probably ask Pike. She was still around for that.”

“Pi—” Fjord began, but was cut off by Scanlan.

“Back to what I was saying. With the gods so… distant, at the moment, Vax may be the closest thing still running around on the material plane. Metaphysical bullshit aside, he is also the only one who ever comes by to hang out. King Percival and his entourage wouldn’t deign to grace me with their presence, but Vax is, mercifully, still doing his own thing most of the time. What that thing is, I honestly wish I could tell you. I mean, I know if it came down to it he’d side with Percy—he’s definitely in the fan club—but he’ll get a drink with me so that gives him a few points.”

“Are…” Pike interjected. “Are he and Keyleth…?”

Scanlan snorted. “You think it got better after you left? He tried, though. I know that. He tried harder than he should have, in my opinion. She was a lost cause long ago. He’ll open up a little after a few drinks, but he doesn’t like to talk about her. I mean, he does, but it’s a topic that will bring down the whole night. I heard you had a run in with her recently. You must understand…”

Pike chewed her lip, nodding solemnly.

“She’s the last one, right?” Fjord asked. “The druid, if I remember correctly. She’s not with Percy in Whitestone, or with Vax, or you. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone mention her at all. You said your info on her was going to be less complete. Why’s that?”

“This doesn’t usually happen to me,” said Scanlan, “but I’m regretting my word choice earlier in this conversation, because it lessens my ability to explain to you… Keyleth.” He signed dramatically.

“Go on,” Fjord prompted. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“‘ _Crazy’, ‘psychosis’, ‘madness’_ ,” Scanlan said. “I was just throwing the words around willy-nilly, lessoning their impact now. Every member of Vox Machina, myself and Pike included, is a little bit crazy. I’m sure you’ve noticed that by now. But Keyleth… Keyleth has lost her mind entirely.” Then, in a hushed voice, “ _not that she was really all there to begin with_. My analysis of her won’t be quite as insightful because, while I consider myself a proficient psychoanalyst, Keyleth is beyond even me. She is maybe the most dangerous of us all; because she’s a wild card, completely unpredictable. I would never try to deal with her alone. She will still listen to Percy to an extent, but even that’s not guaranteed. She almost killed Vax once… though… I’m not one hundred percent convinced he’s not already dead.”

“What happened to her?” Nott asked. “She’s one of the only ones I remember, from what Caleb told me. She sounded so wise, so powerful."

“Loss.” came the simple answer. “We all lost too much. It is what made us into what we are. Keyleth could not live with what she’d lost, or with what she and her loved ones were becoming, so she retreated to a world in which these things were not true. Or maybe they are? Or maybe things are worse? Honestly, I have no idea. Her insanity isn’t even fucking consistent. She’s all over the place, and her moments of lucidity are few and far between.”

For a moment, there was silence. The absence of Scanlan’s voice left the feeling of a space that needed to be filled.

“That…” stuttered Nott. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

“And what were you expecting, goblin?” Scanlan asked.

“Well it’s just… it’s just that you made them sound like real people.”

“Instead of?”

“Gods.”

Scanlan snorted.

“I mean,” said Nott, “you guys are insanely powerful. Just, now I’m starting to see how you got here. It doesn’t seem so impossible.”

“Oh? You have plans? Because if you’re going to try to become the god of goblins I may have to reconsider my decision to let you leave this place.”

“Not me,” Nott said, like it was obvious. “I have a friend. I think he could become more powerful than any of you.”

“Then I pity him. No one gets here without tragedy. Regardless!” Scanlan clapped his hands together, and all at the table flinched. “I have done as you asked. What comes next? Are we allies?”

 Before either Fjord or Nott could answer, Pike grasped Fjord’s arm. “Please, trust me. I do have a plan. It was wrong not to share it with you earlier. But it’s one he can’t be a part of. I know how persuasive he is. Trust me, I know. But please, trust me, look past it. The information he gave you was not without value, but we’ve been here far too long.”

Fjord looked back and forth between Pike and Scanlan desperately, before his eyes finally landed on Nott.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “But Pike has gotten us this far, right?”

“Having a common enemy is very good for uniting people,” Pike said, “and Percy certainly makes a fantastic villain. But it’s not even a good plan. Don’t think I haven’t… Of course I’ve thought about how I’d do it if I was going to…” she stammered. “Percy may be the figurehead but he’s not where you strike first. Vax would never let him die. He’d never let any of you pass on.”

“You don’t know that,” Scanlan protested, lamely. “Don’t pretend you have any idea what he is or how his powers work.”

Pike got stiffly to her feet, leaning on the table.

“Pike,” he reached for her, desperately, “I—”

She cut him off. “Scanlan. If you truly meant any of what you’ve said, let us go. Prove to me you mean it.”

“Don’t leave me to be alone again. Pike, please. I can’t take it. I think about her all the time.”

Silence stretched. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save Kaylie. For a long time, I couldn’t forgive myself for that. But genocide on the scale of what you and Percy did, that is unforgiveable. I can’t, Scanlan. Not yet…”

It was like a switch flipped, or maybe like a mask had been pulled back. Where there had once been vulnerability and grief, suddenly Scanlan was angry.

“Oh, but Ripley is?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I thought Sarenrae was the goddesses of redemption, of second chances.”

Tears had welled up behind Pike’s eyes, even as she stood firm. Nott noticed them and was suddenly filled with an unexpected protectiveness.

“Do what you think is right, Pike,” she said. “You’re the best person I’ve met since we got here.”

“Earn your forgiveness,” Pike practically whispered. “Let us go. Don’t tell the others you saw us.”

Again, Nott tried to get to her feet but was stopped by some invisible force.

“Please Scanlan,” Pike begged, as she raised her mace. “Let them go. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to fight. Not you.”

Right before their eyes, another mask was pulled back off the falsehood that was Scanlan Shorthalt, as he switched tactics once more. He sat straighter, more stoic than expressive. Four fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the arm of his chair.

“There’s no point leaving now. The others will be here soon, if they aren’t already. Stay here and I’ll at least help diffuse the situation.”

“What?” Fjord asked, his mouth falling open.

“I called them as soon as I saw Pike downstairs through one of my arcane eyes,” he explained, matter of fact. “Percy engineered us all an early warning system; a sort of long-range panic button.”

Fjord lunged forward as far as he could, summoning the falchion into his hand. The tip of the blade was less than a foot from Scanlan’s neck, yellow eye glinting in the hilt, and seawater dripping onto the table.

“All that shit you said, and they were already on their way?” he snarled. “I can’t believe it. Pike was right! Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

Scanlan snapped his fingers, and Fjord was pulled flush against the back of his chair, arms bound to his sides.

“One cannot lie about the future,” said Scanlan. “It is unwritten, as was my decision on what to do when they arrived. The only true lies are about the past, so I did not lie to you today.”

“Fucking son of a…”

Fjord was too absorbed in his anger to see, but Nott noticed as Pike appeared to be looking at something across the room. Her eyes flickered between Scanlan, them, and whatever this thing was. Though as Nott attempted to follow her gaze she saw nothing but the normal furnishings of a bedroom.

“Please Scanlan,” Pike asked again, “let us leave this place. Prove to me that there was some truth buried somewhere in all the beautiful words that come out of your mouth.”

“I do love you Pike. But the safest place for you to be when the others get here is with me.”

Pike’s hand closed around the holy symbol of Sarenrae she wore around her neck. “I wish I hadn’t had to do this.”

Scanlan jumped to his feet, reaching towards her and muttering arcane words, but it was not enough. Pike’s power was too much. Her hair floated around her in a halo, eyes glowing with golden light. There was an explosion as a column of fire and light smashed through the roof and into the table. Wood splintered as Scanlan was thrown backwards. The impact knocked Nott and Fjord out of their chairs. And through the new hole in the roof, torrential rain poured, soaking the carpet in seconds.

“Follow me!” Pike yelled, picking up Nott.

Fjord scrambled to his feet and took off running after her. Half a second later, a gauntleted hand closed around his arm, as Pike jerked him to a sudden stop.

“I noticed this thing as soon as I got here!” she yelled. “Got to say, I missed it.”

With that, she crouched, touching her hand to the elegant red carpet under their feet. It jerked to life, lifting into the air. Fjord let out a yell of fright, dropping to his knees. Nott hugged Pike’s leg as she maneuvered them towards the hole she’d blasted open.

Scanlan rose from the remnants of the destroyed furniture, shoving a chunk of wood to the side. With a yell of frustration, he shot a bolt of lightning towards them. Deftly, Pike swerved to the side. It punctured the carpet, creating a charred hole, but leaving them all unscathed. Fjord fired a pair of eldritch blasts down towards him as the carpet slipped out into the storm.

 Rain unlike anything Nott had ever experienced drenched them to the bone as Pike maneuvered the carpet out over the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that was a long one. The characters just kept talking, what can I say? There was a lot of different shit going on in this chapter, so I hope it wasn't too much all at once. 
> 
> I struggle trying to make each member of Vox Machina scary in a way that is unique to them. Like, I wanted the readers to fall for Scanlan's shit as much as the characters. To what level I succeeded in this, I am unsure. 
> 
> After this chapter, there is only one member of Vox Machina we have not seen in the flesh. And that... will be even harder than Scanlan was, I think. 
> 
> (Also, it's 3 in the am, ignore the lacklustre editing job plz.)


	12. Mad Tempest

Beau considered herself to be a woman of the world. In the slightly wilder youth which had proceeded the wild youth she was currently experiencing, she had seen many interesting and dark corners of Wildmount. Still, this place—Scanland, Ank’harel, whatever the fuck it was called—was something new, and she found herself enjoying the adventure, despite the ever-present threat of death.

She and Mollymauk had found their way to what they had determined to be the shiniest shop in the bazaar. Nott did not appear to be here, and if she had stolen something and left the shopkeeper hadn’t noticed yet. Molly, of course, had become distracted by the colourful wares. Beau made her way over to him and punched him hard in the shoulder.

“Hey!” he yelped. “What the fuck? Those fists of yours are legally weapons, you know?”

As they’d split up to find the troublesome goblin, Beau had somehow ended up with Molly, again. They always seemed to end up together, strangely enough. Beau blamed the chaos of the universe, or maybe it was karma finally catching up with her. Regardless, Beau didn’t really mind that much.

“I swear, you have the attention span of a kenku. Nott’s still missing, dumbass.”

“Right!” Molly snapped to attention. “I’ll be back for those earrings, but Nott comes first.”

The pair stepped out from under the colourful canvas, just as storm clouds coalesced above them, seemingly from nowhere. They wound and tightened like a squeezing fist, a dark and stomach-churning grey. A flash of lightning lit them from within. Then, the sky opened. It was rain unlike any rain Beau had ever experienced. Sheets of it lashed the sandstone city like they were trapped under a waterfall. It was blinding, running into Beau’s eyes and mouth. The water was cold, a stark contrast to the dusty dryness of just moments before.

“It doesn’t rain like this in a place like this,” Beau said, raising her voice to be heard of the storm.

“How would you know?” Molly yelled back. “… but I think you’re right. I think this is something.”

“I can feel it in my bones,” said Beau, just as thunder cracked, sounding strangely like a gunshot through the corridors of Whitestone castle.

It echoed through Beau’s body.

“Come on.” Molly’s hand settled on her arm. “We need to find the others. Even without Nott, we need to weather this storm.”

The rain was so heavy, it was difficult to find their way. Unsure of what to do, Beau and Molly made their way back towards the tavern where they’d spent the night. Then, there was an explosion; quieter than the thunder, but different. A few blocks away, smoke poured from the top of a tall tower.

“What do you want to bet that has something to do with us?” Molly asked, but Beau had already taken off running.

She was the fastest of the Mighty Nein, and she quickly pulled ahead. Sliding into one alley after another, Beau eventually reached an area of greenspace about a block from the source of the explosion. The rain was coming down even harder now, if that was possible, and she had to take a second to get her bearings. Rubbing some water from her eyes, Beau saw something that made her freeze.

A woman stood, not thirty feet away from her, completely dry. The rain parted above her, like it ran off some invisible shield. She was gangly and almost as tall as Yasha, wild red hair looking like it had not been brushed in years. Parts of it were matted, clumped with sticks and leaves. Other areas were partially braded, tangled together with feathers, bits of leather, and only the gods knew what else. Her tattered dress and cloak were little more than rags, and her feet were bare and caked with mud. Still, she was beautiful in much the same way a wild animal was.

 _Dangerous,_ whispered something in Beau’s head.

But it was too late, because the woman had noticed her. Striking green eyes sized her up.

Then, in a high and friendly voice, she asked, “are you her?”

In the seconds it took Beau to processes, the woman took a few steps towards her.

“That depends,” Beau finally managed, “on who _her_ is.”

“Oh, you know,” came the answer. “Us.”

Beau blinked. Rain water ran into her mouth. The woman circled. Where the hell was Molly?

“The storm,” she continued, like she was explaining something to a young child. She crouched, scooping up some of the mud in her fist. “The land.”

“Wha… what? Who…?”

“This!” the woman hurled the handful.

Beau managed to deflect some of it with her staff, but most of it spattered across the front of her shirt.

“What the hell!” Beau cried out in indignation. “Molly!” she yelled, trying desperately to glimpse him through the storm, but it was so thick, at this point, she was having trouble seeing the buildings on the edge of the park.

“Beau!” the yell barely reached her over the wind.

It was only then that Beau noticed that she stood in what amounted to the eye of the storm. The rain poured endlessly but here the wind was nearly still. Around them it moved circularly, lashing into the ground like hundreds of tiny knives. Sand and water droplets were picked up, sucked into the tempest. And there was Molly, struggling to make his way towards her. Beau lunged for him, holding out her staff. He managed to grab it and she pulled him forward, stumbling into the stillness at the center of this cyclone.

Thunder boomed above them, so close it set Beau’s hair on end. The wild woman was staring at them, mouth partly open.

A quivering finger extended towards Molly, she said, “you—you’re dead.”

“Am not!” Molly shot back. “I’m Molly.”

“Are you a ghost?” she continued like he hadn’t spoken. “Are you here to haunt me? To remind me of what I’ve done?”

“That depends,” Molly said. “What have you done?”

“Don’t—” Beau hissed, but it was too late.

Beau resisted the urge to clamp her hand over his mouth, knew it would make no difference. He couldn’t feel the instability in the air, could not see the way this woman was like the colliding pressure fronts that created storms. Beau wasn’t sure how he could miss it. She could see the danger as easily as looking through clear water.

Faster than Beau could react, a vine lashed outwards from the ground, wrapping around Molly’s wrist and dragging him towards the woman. Molly stumbled before managing to cut it with his scimitar. Like the arms of a sea monster, five more erupted from the ground, pinning his arms to his sides. Beau took off running towards the woman. If she could break her concentration, Molly could get free. It appeared, however, that Molly did not need the help, as he melted into mist before reforming beside Beau. Still, Beau went for the attack, a jab from her staff and a flurry of blows. Maybe she could stun the woman long enough for them to get away.

The woman was faster than she looked, and Beau only managed to land one punch. It collided with her nose with a satisfying crunch. A trickle of blood stood out against her alabaster skin. Surprise flashed across the woman’s face and a tongue flicked up over her lip to taste it. Then, her eyes refocused back on Molly.

Easily sidestepping a scimitar, she said, “I think it’s best I put you with the other dead things. It’s good to keep things organized.”

Then, she swelled in size. Bones cracked, and skin bubbled and stretched before hardening to stone. The hulking form of an earth elemental loomed over them. A massive arm pinned Molly to its chest, lifting him off the ground. Beau let loose, but came away with nothing but bloody knuckles and a few miniscule cracks in the stone. Molly snarled something that might have been words, and blood dripped from those scabs of his that never really healed. Even with this unfamiliar form, Beau recognized the shift in eye colour that indicated the elemental had gone blind.

It screamed the sound of falling rocks and took off running. Bushes and flower beds were crushed under its haphazard charge. Molly growled and struggle, drove a sword deep into a crack in the stone, but could not free himself. Beau ran after them as the storm collapsed inwards. It rushed to fill the empty space, walls of wind and water slamming together at the center. Beau almost lost them though they were no more than ten feet ahead of her.

The earth elemental paused for a moment, seeming to come to its senses. Beau thought she was going to be able to reach them, but then it turned ninety degrees and charged further into the park, moving towards its central feature; a massive tree, larger around than Beau’s arms could reach. It was hard to believe something like this could take root in the sandy soil, and the park made a circle around it almost like it had been placed here intentionally. As the earth elemental charged towards it without slowing, a portal opened in the trunk to great them.

It dove through, taking Molly with it, and Beau was left standing on the edge of the shimmering oval, looking through to barren rocks and mountain peeks. The rain poured, though maybe a little bit lighter. If Beau went through they would be gods knew how far away, cut off from the others with a woman who could only be another member of Vox Machina. The portal began to close, the flesh of the tree slowly growing inwards. Beau swore loudly, then dove through.

She rolled across the ground as the trunk healed shut behind her. If she had not gone, the situation would have been the same, except Molly would have been alone. Molly was a lot of things, some of them infuriating, but he was also her friend. And she’d be damned if she let him get dragged away kicking and screaming while she stood by doing nothing. Was it foolhardy what she’d just done? Definitely. But Beau had never been one to give a fuck about the consequences.

Beau had emerged on a windswept ridge in some foreign mountain range. A cold wind ran along it, almost as strong as the tempest of the storm, though more consistent in its direction. Beau began to shiver, despite herself, still drenched and dripping a little. There was no sign of Molly or the woman. She had emerged from the largest of a clump of mostly leafless trees, all leaning in the direction of the winds. On either side, cliffs plunged into wisps of clouds which obscured the forests and valleys of the ground far below. Ahead, the ridge slanted downwards a little, dropping away into what Beau hoped wasn’t another cliff. Tucking her hands into her armpits, Beau trudged in that direction, trying her best not to shiver.

Standing at the top of a set of weathered stone stairs, Beau saw a large, flat plateau, bordered by the edge of a cliff on one side and a thickly forested slope on the other. Lower than the peaks that surrounded it, it was mercifully sheltered from the biting winds. It also seemed to house a village of sorts, though it was eerie in the fact that it was utterly lifeless. Beau descended towards it, trying her best to understand what she was seeing. The village fit easily into these windswept peaks, the huts built to let the air flow around and through them, huddled close to the ground, stout and functional. Windchimes made of wood and bone were the only source of sound aside from the wind. The music they made might have been beautiful once, but in this stillness of this place it was only creepy.

Though the village, while silent, was not empty. It was filled with sculptures of all kinds, though Beau was unsure if that was the right word for them. It was like someone had tried desperately to capture a moment in time. All around her was a frozen rendition of what life in this village may once have been like. Twisting vines and scraggly young trees twisted together to form humanoid shapes. They were walking, talking, dancing, their poses dynamic and varied. There were still others built of stone, clothed in moss and animal fur. To Beau’s disgust, she found a skeleton, suspended from vines like a puppet, decorated in leaves and feathers, standing upon a stump in the center of this place. And there, at the edge of town, was the woman Beau knew to be their creator.

She was as still as the sculptures, which is why it had taken Beau so long to notice her. A colourful mantel covered the rags she’d worn in Ank’Harel. It looked the way a forest’s canopy did in autumn, or like a particularly beautiful sunset, though even it was faded and torn in places. She stood dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, toes sticking out into open air. She did not turn around as Beau approached, staring out over the windy precipice. Molly was nowhere in sight, and Beau was gripped with the sudden fear that she’d thrown him off. But she couldn’t let herself believe that. Looking at this woman, as strange and mad as she was, Beau couldn’t believe that.

Beau was stuck here, at the mercy of this woman. Even she was smart enough to know not to go in guns blazing.

“Hey,” she started, lamely. “My name is Beauregard… Beau. What’s yours?”

“Keyleth,” came the answer, barely audible over the wind, “leader of the Air Ashari, Voice of the Tempest. Welcome Beauregard, to Zephrah.”

Keyleth turned slowly to face her, and Beau felt a cold, curling feeling in her gut. Was this what the others had been talking about? The weirdness they felt when faced with their counterpart? Beau didn’t understand any of this, and there were bigger things to worry about at the moment.

“What is this place?” Beau asked, unable to help herself.

“My home,” Keyleth answered. “We the Ashari guard the places where the elemental planes bleed into this one. I am the leader of my people,” a hand gestured towards the empty village, “I do my best to protect them from harm, and together we guard the portal to the elemental plane of air.”

“Right…” Beau grappled with her nature. Self preservation and brutal honesty battled head to head.

“It feels strange, having you here,” said Keyleth. “It feels a little like it did before Vax severed the threads of fate. It is a feeling I did not notice was gone.”

“Your people…” Beau began, already kicking herself. “What happened to them?”

“War,” said Keyleth. “It isn’t easy. Even now, in this peaceful world we’ve built, I can still see it echoed in their eyes. In a generation, perhaps the memory will have faded.”

Beau bit her lips, feeling inexplicably like crying. “This whole universe feels like a graveyard,” she blurted out. “Ever since we got here it’s felt wrong.”

Keyleth just stared at her. The wind seemed to move more gently around her, not pulling at her clothes as violently as it did Beau’s.  

“When I was young,” Beau began. “I lived in a house that felt empty.” There were still members of The Mighty Nein with which she had never spoken about her past, but here, faced with Keyleth, it flowed from her as if she had no choice in the matter. “It felt hollow, like a weak charade at a life, at a childhood. It messes with you, growin’ up like that, you know?” Beau’s voice wavered a little. “Not too much though. I mean, so much of what I am is my own fault. But the point I’m trying to make is, walking through that village, seeing all those shadows of the people who used to live here, it felt familiar. It felt hollow and fake in the same way my childhood did. You can’t keep living like that. It will mess you up. Trust me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Keyleth, softly. “I wish your life wasn’t what it was. I see how hard it made you. Where your childhood was empty mine was so full. And I came out softer for it.”

Beau noted how easily Keyleth had glossed over the last part of her comment.

“You don’t strike me as soft, I’m sorry.”

“Not anymore. I had to grow up, learn to be the leader my people needed. All my life I carried the weight of their expectation on my shoulders. My father… he loves me very much, but he wanted me to be my mother, to lead a people, placed all those expectations before me when I was too young to understand what they entailed.”

“Ah, expectations, that’s something I can understand,” said Beau, feeling for this woman. She had always been so good at supressing empathy. So why now, faced with such a dangerous enemy, did that ability fail her?

“I had a feeling you would. I’m not sure why.”

“Though…” Beau said, “where you shouldered yours, I more so, shook mine off as violently and destructively as I could. Different ways of coping, I suppose. But do you know what I say? How dare they expect so much of us! I’m not anything anyone else wanted me to be except my gods damn self! We don’t owe anyone anything. Neither of us do.”

“Beau…?” Keyleth was staring at her, almost fearfully. “Is this the afterlife?”

“Uh. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re here to replace me. The thing is, I don’t remember dying…” she paused. “Percy did. I think he remembers dying better than he remembers anything else.”

“If this was the afterlife,” Beau asked, “wouldn’t your people be here? Because the village behind me still looks pretty fucking empty.”

All her life, Beau’s mouth had moved faster than her self preservation instinct. She wondered if this time it would cost her life. However, Keyleth’s reaction was not violent. On the contrary, her breathing increased in speed. Her eyes were blown wide, every breath shallow and quivering, as she stared past Beau, at nothing. This manifested very differently than when Caleb had a panic attack, but still Beau recognized it for what it was. Keyleth shrunk away; then she kept shrinking. Her body contorted inwards and downwards, hair bursting from her pores.

Standing where Keyleth had been moments before was some sort of midsized wildcat. It was nothing as majestic as a lion or tiger. Back arched, its was about as tall as her waist, brown and mangy. It hissed, bearing its teeth and slinking away without breaking its stare. Beau held out a tentative hand, falling into the same body language she would use to approach an actual feral animal. All hairs stood on end, it looked very much like it was cowering. The cat made a sound somewhere between a mewl and a whimper, then it took off running. Beau pursued it, but it was faster than she was, and she lost it among the buildings.

Good. She needed to find Molly. He couldn’t be too far. She’d been right behind them when they moved through the tree. Where could Keyleth have stashed him before making her way to the edge of the cliff?

“You better not be dead you mother fucker!” Beau yelled into the wind.

As if in answer, Beau’s eyes found the glint of metal by the edge of the forest. It was one of Molly’s scimitars.

“Molly!” she called his name, listening desperately for some response.

The hilt of the weapon felt unfamiliar in her hand. She moved into the forest. The trees here grew on the heavily angled rocky slope of the mountains. Most were small, clinging to life on the windswept peaks. One was not, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. As Beau approached, she noted that it was not one tree but many grown together, a tangle of vines and thin trunks. A spatter of blood blended in so well with the dark wood that Beau almost missed it.

“Molly?” she asked again, quieter this time.

She listened for a moment, holding her breath. Then she heard it, just barely: breathing. It was coming from within the tree in front of her. With a grunt of effort, Beau tore open the makeshift trunk. The saplings were new and soft, and they bent easily. She ripped back layers of vines and eventually, there he was. Molly’s red eyes were half lidded. She wasn’t sure if he was conscious or not.

“Just hold on. Stay with me Molly, I’ll get you out of there.”

It took her another half minute to free the rest of his body, or at least enough of it that she was able to grab him under the armpits and pull him out. Beau couldn’t tell what had happened exactly, but it looked like Molly had taken damage. He slumped into her, sharp nails digging into her skin so desperately that they drew a little blood. Beau did not push him away as she ordinarily would have.

“You alright?” she asked. “Keep it together. We’re not out of this yet.”

“Beau…” he breathed, “thank you. I—I didn’t know where I was. I thought—I thought…” he seemed to be attempting to collect himself. “It felt like I was buried again.”

“Oh Molly,” she sighed, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re okay, alright? You’re alive. You’re you.” She dropped him. “Now pull yourself together and forget I just did that. We need to get out of here before Keyleth decides to come looking for us.”

Molly brushed himself off. “Is she your… you know?”

“Yeah.” Beau said, flatly. “She didn’t try to kill me on sight though, so I’m starting to think that’s just a you thing.”

“It’s you and me Beau,” said Molly, as he began walking in a vaguely downhill direction. “We could be anywhere in the world right now. Who knows if we’ll ever see the others again.”

“You know what,” said Beau. “I change my mind. I think there are still a few things I want to talk to Keyleth about.”

Molly just laughed as Beau jogged to catch up to him.

“We should try to find some civilization,” she said, “try to get our bearings.”

They wound downwards, forced into a thin sliver of forest between two towering mountain peaks. Beau was on high alert, eyes peeled for any sign of Keyleth, or really any animal for that matter. It felt futile, after seeing what the druid was capable of. It was like they had no stake in their own survival, like it rested solely on the winds of chance.

As they rounded one of the peaks, high above them loomed Zephrah. Their path crossed only a small fraction of the way down the massive cliff. Still, Keyleth was little more than a dot where she stood at the edge.

“Get down,” Beau hissed. “She’s up there.”

She and Molly wedged their way between a thorny shrub and the side of the mountain, making themselves as small as possible. They watched as, high above, Keyleth pitched forward into a perfect swan dive. She fell head first, arms tight to her sides, and mantle floating behind her like a pair of wings. She got closer and closer, trajectory such that she would miss the path on which they hid and continue down to the valley far below. No magic emerged to stop her plunge, and for a moment Beau wondered if their problem was about to take care of itself. Her stomach twisted a little at the thought.

Keyleth fell faster and faster. The wind pulled everything tight to her body, compressing her into a thin line. The air moved around her, pulling at her skin, and at her hair, whistling over her arms as she extended them on either side. It looked almost as if she was falling so fast that her skin was pealed back to reveal the feathers that lay underneath. The hawk that took her place continued its nosedive before extending its wings and swooping out over the mountain range. It moved away from them until it was little more than a dot, and only then did Beau realize she’d been holding her breath.

“Let’s keep moving,” said Molly.

She could only nod.

They moved through the heavily slanted forest, sometimes climbing and sometimes walking, but always on alert for sings of the hawk. They saw it fly overhead once—at least Beau was fairly sure it had been her—but had managed to conceal themselves in time.

“I think,” said Molly, after they had been walking for what had to be at least an hour, “that if someone like her really wanted to find us, she could.”

“I know,” Beau sighed, “but what else am I supposed to do? Stop trying? Just stand in the open begging for her to see us? I don’t think she’s really… all there, you know? She’s living in a different world, but it sure as hell isn’t here. If she can’t even keep straight who’s alive or dead how can she remember when’s a good time to use a spell? I don’t think she’s stupid, though, and I want to be as careful as possible in case whatever whims guide her do send her after us.”

“Makes sense,” said Molly, with a shrug, as he used one of his scimitars to steady himself against a tree.

They eventually reached a ridge that was a little bit flatter than the mountain side they had been traversing. The going was easier here and they were making good time.

Molly and Beau both felt it at the same time, a strange crawling sensation, like something was watching them. With every step they took, for a moment after their feet touched the ground, white threads of light would appear emanating from their soles. The light got more and more obvious, until Beau was about to ask Molly if she was going insane.

Then, the ground opened. A pit materialized beneath their feet, silently and without ceremony. With barely enough time to scream, they plunged down into inky blankness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I heard ya'll wanted some Kiki... 
> 
> Oooh boy, I'm scared for the next chapter. If I don't get derailed and it gets to the point I think it's going to get to, I feel it will be crossing a line in which this fic will go from weird to **weird**. Like, I kind of knew it was coming from the beginning, but part of me never knew I'd get this far.


	13. Forgotten Beginnings

Jester had always liked dancing in the rain. Running outside to ruin whatever you were wearing, jumping in puddles at just the right moment to splash pedestrians; these were pleasures which had seldom been afforded to her growing up. She remembered pressing her face to the glass and begging her mother to let her outside. Still, as fun as it had been at first, this rain was a little much. It had started as a welcome relief from the dry heat, but now Jester felt more like she was swimming than dancing.

Currently, she was pulled tightly to the wall at the edge of an alley, getting a negligible amount of cover from a slight overhang. About a block away, down the street, was the best building she had ever seen in her entire life. Allura had mentioned that it was the home of another member of Vox Machina, but Jester just hadn’t been able to help herself but sneak a bit closer to get a better look. Why did Queen Vex’ahlia have to be so boring? This place was purple! Shrouded in sparkles and emitting multicoloured bubbles! Castle Whitestone had been drab and scary, the most interesting piece of furnishing a massive dragon head.

“Hey Scanlan!” a booming voice echoed down the street, somehow louder than the storm. “We’re here! It’s goin’a be a proper reunion.”

“I don’t think he can hear you from here, darling,” came the much quieter voice of Vex’ahlia.

Jester froze. _She_ was here. Too scared to run, Jester hid behind a group of clay urns, currently overflowing with rainwater. She peeked between them, incapable of looking away as a group of three walked past the alley. It was the same three who had surrounded them as they fled Whitestone.

“That, and it looks like he’s rather busy at the moment,” said Percy.

They came to a stop just a little out of Jester’s view. It took all her self-restraint not to leave her hiding place to stare at them. They’d looked much the same as last time, yet so much more real. Grog, the goliath, was still unbelievably huge, the massive black sword Fjord talked about strapped across his back. Queen Vex’ahlia, while still dressed well, had replaced the gown with a hunter’s cloak, though the obsidian crown still sat proudly upon her head. King Percival was undoubtably the most different, looking more like a human than a creature from a nightmare. Still, he held himself the way people did when they had power. Jester knew how to recognize it, growing up among her mother’s clientele. People who walked like that had the kind of power that made laws go away. They were the kind who deserved to be locked out on a balcony without their clothes.

“’s that smoke?” Grog asked.

“Looks like it,” said Percy, “I suppose Scanlan was serious after all. That’s surprising.”

Jester’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure they’d hear it. What was happening? What were they looking at? Where her friends safe? She had to move, Jester realized. She had to get out of here before they found her. She had just gotten to her feet when the familiar buzz of a message spell pushed its way into her consciousness.

_“Stay down,” ordered the detached voice of Allura, “stay silent.”_

Suddenly, a hand settled on Jester’s arm. Before she could make a sound, another covered her mouth. Jester could feel the body against hers but could not see it. Then, for just a moment, Allura flickered into existence beside her, before the hum of magic spread through her body. Jester looked down and saw the ground where her legs should have been. Allura’s hand still resting loosely over her lips, they both sunk back down behind the cover. Jester’s dress was sodden, as she found herself crouching in a quickly forming puddle.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the street in cold blue light, as a dark shape dropped from the sky, landing softly. Massive black wings folded neatly. It was hard to make out details through the storm, and the shadows clung to this figure in an unnatural way. Still, Jester knew who this was. Vax’ildan. She had not seen him, so she knew no more than the small bits of information she’d managed to pry from Caleb. He hadn’t been very keen to talk about it. Still, it was obvious this was the shadow that had torn through the bunker leaving death in its wake.

“I saw the spell that broke the roof,” he reported. “It was a beam of light that came down through the clouds… I only know one person who can still do something like that.”

“Pike,” said Vex. “We need to get up there.”

“Yeah!” Grog agreed, enthusiastically. “It’s going to be a proper reunion,” he paused, “we just need Keyleth.”

“I can…” Vax began.

“We don’t have time,” Percy cut him off. “She’ll catch up when she’s ready.”

“Wish she’d turn off the rain,” Grog grumbled, his voice further way.

Vex’s response was inaudible. Then, there was nothing but the sound of the storm. Jester and Allura crouched in the quickly growing puddle, frozen. Jester knew she was there because Allura’s hands dug into her shoulders to the point where it was painful.

_“Let’s go,” prompted the telepathic voice in her head._

Then, an invisible hand was pulling her to her feet. Gripping her wrist, Allura lead her down the alley. They rounded the corner into a slightly larger alley, though it was cluttered with crates and urns.

“Caleb?” Allura called, in a hoarse whisper.

“Thank the gods,” said a familiar voice, originating from an empty space against the wall. “Jester?” his voice shook a little with worry.

“I’m here,” Jester said. “They… they’re here, Caleb. All of them, I think.”

“I know,” came his clipped response, “we need to find the others, ja? Teleport away again.”

“Yes,” Allura said, her voice more commanding than usual, though it was no surprise to Jester that such a powerful woman was capable of it. “There is a place we need to go. We’re out of time, and there is none left for debate. Our options are limited, so I’m making the call.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Caleb.

“I—” Allura stammered. There was no reading of body language, but Jester could tell from her tone that something was wrong. “I had been hoping to avoid a fight, but I fear that may have just become impossible. Pike’s in trouble.”

Caleb muttered a Zemnian swear under his breath.

“They’re close,” Allura said. “We need to get on a roof. They’re coming in from above. They need to survive until they get to us. Maybe if we provide some sort of distraction.”

Jester was already scanning the street, looking for some way to climb up.

“I am not sure if you and I are the climbing type, Allura,” Caleb said, anxiety heavy in his voice.

“This way,” Jester made a beeline for a nearby fence. “Follow me. Even you scrawny wizards will be able to get up. It’s just one story.” Her fingers curled through the intricate, dark metal bars. They were for beauty as much as functionality, tight spirals and flower designs. “Watch this! Wait…” Her invisible foot found a hold, rattling the metal. “You can’t watch me. But just climb the fence, then step onto the awning. We should be able to reach the roof from there, alright? Come on!”

Jester did not wait to see if they were following, not that she could have seen them anyways. She was up the fence in seconds, leaping to the wooden awning with a whispered prayer that it would hold her weight. The Traveller must have been with her, for it did nothing but groan a little. A small hop was all that it took for Jester to get her fingers over the edge of the roof, then she was pulling herself up with relative ease.

Up here, there was nothing between her and the storm. The endless expanse of clouds roiled like the Lucidian on a rough day. Smoke rose from one of the gaudy towers of Scanlan’s castle, and there, just visible through the rain, was a flying carpet. The figures upon it were no more than shadows, but Jester still recognized Fjord instantly. It wasn’t the only thing flying. One speck that she knew, without seeing, was Vex’ahlia, and another, approaching at tremendous speed. Vax’ildan flew as fast as an arrow from a bow, shooting back towards them. The carpet angled down, heading towards the rooftops far below, but it was too slow. Jester hefted her shield, gripping it with white knuckles. Then she called on the grace of the Traveller to bolster her defences further, raising her hand and releasing a blinding bolt of radiant energy right at him.

Impossibly fast, he dodged out of the way, spinning to face her. Jester was visible again, hair and dress plastered flat to her body, she stared him down. Then, a crackling bolt of lightning shot from the air beside her, and Allura was visible as well. She was so sure it had hit him, but then Vax flickered, suddenly a few inches to the side. He paused for a second, eyes turning back to where the carpet had just disappeared behind a building. Then, Allura was screaming in pain.

A gunshot slammed into her shoulder, shoving her back and almost knocking her from the roof. Through the storm, its source was impossible to determine. Jester grabbed Allura’s hand, sending healing magic between their palms. She pulled the wizard after her, going for a running jump to the next roof. The pair sailed through the air, landing successfully on the slippery stone. Another shot. This one hit Allura in the stomach. Jester pulled her behind a large chimney which she’d estimated to be between them and the sniper. Allura coughed up blood, slumping to the ground. Jester poured everything she had into the wizard. It was difficult; maybe it was all in her head, but the Traveler felt so far away. Another shot struck the other side of the chimney, knocking a brick lose.

Caleb was nowhere in sight. He was too smart to do something like this. But her friends had been in danger, and Jester would have been incapable of standing by. Allura still looked rough, dress stained with blood, but at least she was holding together.

Suddenly, Caleb’s voice echoed sourceless in Jester’s head. _“Stay low. Head straight for the end of the roof. Jump off and I will catch you.”_

“Allura,” Jester pulled up into a crouch. “Caleb says to run straight and jump. I’ll cover you.”

“Right. Thank you, Jester, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve got us.” She was breathing heavily but began to mutter an arcane incantation.

A translucent door appeared in space before them. Still gripping Jester’s hand, Allura stepped through it. Just before she could cross the threshold, Jester was hit by something which was moving as fast as a bullet but was much larger. Torn from Allura’s grip, Jester managed to spin around just in time to block a descending dagger. Her shield of faith combined with her physical one to absorb the power of the strike. The blade embedded itself in the metal, denting it. Jester’s back hit the wet stone. Vax pinner her in place under her own shield. Dark eyes glinted from behind soaked strings of black hair. This was the first time she’d seen him up close, and he did look so much like Vex’ahlia.

Faster than Jester could thing, he came at her with the dagger in his other hand. Jester tried to squirm out of the way, tried to force the shield between them, but the blade found a home in her thigh. She yelped as he pulled the first dagger free again. He was too fast, too accurate; it hit Jester that this could very well be the end. All she could do was stare at him, trying to understand how he had become this: this feathered, terrifying, questionably mortal thing made from the shadows themselves. Their eyes met, and Vax faltered, just for a moment. Jester struggled to get a full breath, refusing to look away.

Vax’s eyes widened.

He said, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, “stay prone.”

Then he was gone, shooting off into the storm in the direction the carpet had disappeared. There was no time to think about it. Jester lay on her back, letting the rain run into her mouth, her blood diluting in the puddles around her. It seemed to be letting up a little, the violent storm calming to a drizzle. Carefully, she reached for her injured leg. She did not have much magic left, barely enough to clot the wound. Turning onto her stomach, Jester crawled towards the edge of the roof, body tensed in anticipation of a gunshot that did not come. Closing her eyes, she let herself role off.

For a moment she plunged, then suddenly the air was thick around her. It was like she was sinking slowly into the world’s softest featherbed. Jester floated like a leaf towards the ground, landing solidly on her feet. From the shadows, Caleb nodded at her. He gestured silently for her to follow, darting into an ally. She complied, trying to stay as quiet as possible. They had gone less than a block when Jester heard a familiar yelp of pain. It was Nott, and Jester saw a momentary flash of panic across his normally stoic features.

The pair peaked around a corner into a thin street. No more than a few meters away were Pike, Fjord, and Nott. Nott was a little further, clutching at the place where an arrow stuck through her chest. Staring them down, longbow notched, was Vex. Even drenched, she struck an aristocratic figure. From her perfect posture to miraculously neat braid, she oozed presence. Except, of course, for where her arm emerged from her cloak to hold the bow. Vicious thorny vines had left deep punctures which dripped a black fluid so viscus the rain seemed to have little effect on it. Where the brambles wrapped the bow itself, the substance ran across the elegantly crafted wood, oozing out from between her fingers. A few drops of the stuff dripped down her cheeks. Her waterline was encrusted with black, like ruined makeup. It made her eyes look deep and sunken, a little like a skill.

Caleb fumbled in his component pouch, but Jester was faster. She tore the familiar piece of herself free, summoning her duplicate behind Vex. With thaumaturgy, she sent a peal of laughter echoing sourceless down the ally. Vex looked over her shoulder, and Jester’s duplicate stuck out both its tongue and its middle finger.

“This way,” Caleb called, already shrinking further back into the ally.

Their friends took off running, Fjord lifting the limping Nott. But the distraction was momentary.

“Nice try,” Vex’s condescending voice echoed after them. “You’ll need more than that to trick me, darling.”

Jester peaked back around the corner. Maybe she could cast something through her duplicate, but she didn’t get the chance.

“Begone!” Allura’s voice boomed from further down the street, heavy with authority.

Jester could feel the magic in it. Vex opened her mouth as if to snarl out some response, but then she was gone, just like that.

“We have to go!” Allure yelled. “Now! She’ll be back soon. Unless, of course, she’s a little more tied to the feywild than it seems.”

Jester kissed Fjord on the cheek before diving down and trapping Nott in a hug. “Thank the Traveler you’re both alright. Nott, what were you thinking? How am I supposed to solve cases without my sidekick?”

“I’m sorry Jester,” Nott mumbled, looking down in shame.

Allura began to mutter under her breath.

“Wait!” Nott called out. “Where are Beau and Molly?”

“Stop! Stop!” Jester shook Allura’s shoulder. “We can’t leave without them.”

“We don’t have a choice,” she said. “We can’t run. This is the only way to lose them.”

“No!” Jester tore away from the group, hoping to get out of range, but Caleb caught her arm.

He looked at her, silent and sad. Somewhere close by footsteps were closing in.

“Trust in your friends,” Allura said. “Trust they can take care of themselves. We will come back for them.”

Jester could do nothing as Allura finished the spell, familiar golden light blossoming around them.

“But…” Nott’s final complaint hung uselessly in the air.

The first thing that hit Jester was the smell. It was wet and sulfurous, like mud and decay. She found herself almost knee deep in a swamp, and she was reminded of one particular job for the Gentleman which felt like a lifetime ago. But this was not Labenda, the vegetation was different and unfamiliar, the ground a deeper, more rotten colour.

“Gross,” Jester complained, making her way towards the more solid ground. “It’s getting on my dress. Couldn’t you have picked somewhere less… bad?”

Fjord offered her a hand, which she accepted, stepping up onto the bank with a squelching sound.

“You brought us here,” said Pike, rubbing absentmindedly at some mud splattered on her shield. It was the kind of statement that should have been a question but wasn’t.

“What else was I to do, Pike?” Allura asked.

“I…” she stammered. “I don’t know. I—I suppose you’re right. I suppose I’m just a little scared. I’m afraid that messing with stuff like this will just make things worse. But I suppose that’s naïve, seeing as Percy’s still got that… thing…”

“You don’t need to be afraid,” said Allura, touching Pike softly on the shoulder.

“How could you know that? You weren’t there last time. You didn’t meat him. Didn’t see…” she trailed off, taking a breath and steadying herself.

“Trust me, Pike,” Allura said, her face a mask of eerie calm.

“Uhh,” Jester raised her hand awkwardly, exchanging a few looks with the others, “where are we exactly? And when are we going back for Molly and Beau?”

Jester may have been a detective, but the area was sparse for clues. There were several clouds of obnoxiously buzzing flies, some rather unhealthy-looking stunted trees, and a determinately unpleasant odor.

“We are back on Tal’Dorei,” said Allura, “the east coast, to be exact, right outside the town of Stilben. And about your friends… I’m afraid I lack the spells, at the moment, to go back for them. An unplanned encounter with Grog left me rather low.”

“What?” Jester’s mouth fell open.

“I’m so sorry,” Allura bit her lip, staring at her hands, “I wish it could have been avoided, but if we hadn’t left when we did we would all be dead. All of Vox Machina in one place like that… it has something that has not happened in quite some time, and there is nothing more dangerous.”

“You left them to die!” Nott accused.

Jester was still processing, shock momentarily robbing her of speech.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Fjord reassured. “Allura did what needed to be done. We’re no good to each other dead.”

“We are going to go speak with someone,” said Allura, “maybe we can ask a favour, see if he can do something about your missing friends.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works,” said Pike, quietly. Then, turning to Allura, “I… do we even know if this is going to work? Where we’re going, it’s not here. It’s somewhere else, like another plane, or another universe. I—I’m not sure. We came here last time to find it, but I got the sense we could have gotten there from anywhere.”

“Well then why do we not just do what you did last time?” Caleb asked. He was on edge, scanning the swamp like he was expecting an attack. “The sooner we do this the sooner we can rest then return to find our friends, yes?”

“I apologize for my ignorance,” Fjord interjected, “but what exactly is it that we’re here doing?”

“It’s best not to think too hard about it,” said Allura, smiling slightly, “but Caleb makes a good point. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

She hoisted her dress up, from where it was dragging in the mud, and headed off in a seemingly random direction. The four remaining members of The Mighty Nein could do nothing but follow.

“Wait!” Pike called after them, a little bit of panic edging into her voice. “Where are you going? I don’t even know where to go. We had Vax last time. He can see things we can’t, like the threads of fate. He lead us there.”

“Well,” said Allura, “like you said, if where we’re going isn’t on this plane, does it even matter?”

Pike swallowed, then nodded, hurrying to catch up. “It seems like you’ve got this under control. I almost forgot that you worked alongside Ripley to create the spell that brought them here. No wonder you understand this better than I do.”

“Something like that,” said Allura.

They walked for almost half an hour, sloshing through the oppressively humid atmosphere. Allura came to a stop in a clearing. It was fairly circular and centered on a large tree. Most trees in the swamp were small and scraggly, trying to pull what life they could from the nutrient poor mud. This one, however, stood tall and singular.

“Does this look like where you were last time?” Nott asked Pike.

“I’m not sure. It could be. Trying to remember that time… it’s all a bit of a blur.”

Allura placed her palm against the tree, then her forehead. Her eyes slid closed, and for a moment she looked very sad. There was no sound except for the buzzing of insects.

Then, she turned back to face them. “Do you remember what you did before?”

“They had me cast a spell,” said Pike. “It was the same kind of spell I would use to ask Sarenrae a question. But Percy said something to me, and I still remember it. He said, ‘ _was it ever really Sarenrae you were talking to?_ ’”

“Like I said,” said Allura, “it’s best not to think about it too hard. Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

As Pike prepared for the spell, Allura guided them into a circle. They stood at the base of the tree, hands clasped together. Jester stood between Caleb and Fjord. It helped a little, feeling them there. Caleb’s skin was always a bit too warm, Fjord’s always a bit too cold. They were both just as tense as she was, she could feel it. A stick of incense burned feebly in the center of the circle. Its smell was lost in the stink of the swamp.

“What question are you going to ask?” Jester asked, as Pike joined the circle, gauntlets grasping Nott and Allura.

“I’m going to ask if we can come speak to him,” she said. “Last time… all I asked was ‘ _why?_ ’ Without Vax here, I think his answer may matter.”

Who was this _him_ Jester wondered. Whoever he was, he was certainly more difficult to speak with than the Traveller.

“This will be easier if we all close our eyes,” said Allura. “Focus. Let us endeavour to make this as easy for Pike as possible.”

Pike began to whisper, beautiful words that even Jester did not understand. Caleb’s grip was so tight it was a little painful, but Jester didn’t mind. It was an anchor in the dark void behind her eyelids. Fjord, in contrast, held too loosely, like he was going to slip away. Suddenly, Jester realized she couldn’t smell the swamp anymore. She’d been so focused on her friends she hadn’t noticed at first, but the pleasant fragrance of the incense was olfactible. There was also no sound except for their breathing. Jester was too scared to open her eyes, rubbing a nervous circle into the back of Fjord’s hand with her thumb.

“It’s alright to open your eyes,” said Allura.

So they did, finding themselves in a place that could not easily be described in words. It was endless darkness punctuated with thin threads of light. There was no order to this place, no structure to the strands. They hung limp and tangled, like a broken spiderweb or an unspooled ball of yarn. The chaos of it made it even more difficult to tell which way was up and which was down. There were only four taught threads in the entire vastness, and they came from the chest of Jester, Fjord, Caleb, and Nott. They stretched in both directions, getting smaller and smaller until they were pinpricks of light disappearing in the darkness. One emerged from Pike’s chest as well, but it tapered off, moving slightly like a frayed thread caught in a breeze. From Allura, there was nothing at all.

“I’ve seen this before,” said Caleb, tugging at his thread, “when I talked to Vax’ildan. It was something like this that was connecting us.”

“These are the threads of fate,” said Pike, “one of the two great forces that shape our world… and look at them now.”

“Should we follow these?” Nott asked, gesturing to the thread in her chest. She spoke in a half whisper, as if afraid to raise her voice.

“Welcome,” said a voice. It was deep, and full, and seemed to fill the entire space, powerful enough to fill an endless void. Still, there was a softness to it.

Everyone spun to face the source. Allura’s eyes glowed with white light. Then, she opened her mouth, and again a man’s voice spilled from it.

“I had a feeling you might come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Q:** what the hell is this? is this what I think it is?  
>  **A:** sorry... I did warn you
> 
>  **Q:** why didn't you update for a month?  
>  **A:** he's porble and I love him. i was very sad
> 
>  **Q:** speaking of that...?  
>  **A:** adjustments have been made. (you'll see what I mean in time.) This is also now officially canon divergent at a specific point, that point being the squad only taking one job from The Gentleman, not both.


	14. Web of Fate

Jester, Fjord, Nott, and Caleb found themselves somewhere that defied description. It was not unlike the pseudo-space inside the dodecahedron, but not very much like it either. It was very much like the space in Caleb’s dream in which he had been murdered by his feathered counterpart, though here the void was filled with threads of light, broken and tangled.

Allura Vysoren was glowing. Soft light of no particular colour emanated from her eyes and mouth, as well as from her skin itself. Currently, she was speaking in a voice that was not her own. _Right?_ It was not her voice because it seemed to be the voice of a man. Not that one can ever be completely sure about such things. A little back from the group, Pike watched with a guarded and slightly fearful expression. Though, it was notably missing the surprise that coloured the faces of the others.

“I had a feeling you might come here,” repeated the voice, “though the question that remains is why. Why have you come here?”

Nervous eyes flickered to Fjord, who had still not entirely gotten used to the fact that it was his job to speak.

“Well…” he began. “We don’t rightly know. It was actually Allura’s idea, and seeing as she’s a bit indisposed at the moment…” He trailed off, looking desperately back at Pike.

“Why do you think you’re here?” he asked, clearly directing the question at the four of them.

“Because we are stuck in this fucked universe,” said Caleb, “and we do not have any other options.”

“I think we’re supposed to kill Vox Machina,” Nott chimed in, “which is super hard because they’re… you know… incredibly and impossible powerful.” She paused. “Are you powerful, oh ghost who has inhabited Allura’s body?”

“No,” came the answer. It was somehow forlorn, which is a difficult thing for a voice that booming to be. “Not anymore. Not here.” He sighed. “You said you don’t have any other options, Caleb. I suppose I find myself in much the same predicament. I will release Allura back to you, and we can talk face to face. You’ll excuse my initial caution. The last time I had visitors it did not go particularly well.”

Then, Allura gasped, falling to her hands and knees. White light rippled outwards from where she fell, like a pebble had hit the surface of a massive pitch-black ocean. Then suddenly, they were somewhere else.

In comparison to where they had just been, this place was easier to describe, but just barely. It was a room, of sorts, possessing four walls and a floor, but no ceiling. Though even these were not completely corporeal. None of the six Exandrian visitors knew what a computer was, but if they had they may have been able to describe it as partially rendered. Though not solid looking, the walls and floor were composed of a regular spider-web like pattern of glowing threads. And in the center of the room was a throne, composed of an even tighter grid of these.

On it sat a man. He was, in almost all ways, an ordinary looking human. He had shoulder length brown hair and wore a warn, dark purple cloak. What set him apart were his eyes: all three of them. The two that were where eyes should be were pools of light, shining a colour that defied description. If Fjord had tried he would have defaulted to it being white, whereas Jester saw it more as an odd shade of purple. Nott would have said it contained the entirety of the rainbow. Caleb, however, would have known not to try. The third eye sat in the centre of his forehead, more defined such that things like iris and pupil were discernible. Though it wasn’t so much an eye as the concept of one, sketched poorly onto the fabric of this place. It was clear to all of them, however, that it was watching them.

Light pulsed outward from the throne, traveling down the spiderweb of threads. It came at regular intervals, like a slow heartbeat.

“It’s the web of fate,” said Pike, her soft voice the first to break the buzzing silence. “When Vax destroyed it, he cut it off from its source.”

“Here?” Fjord asked.

She nodded.

The figure on the throne hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word.

“Are you a god?” Jester asked. “Like The Traveller?”

“No.” The voice came from everywhere and from nowhere. “Not like The Traveller.”

Pike bowed politely, and Fjord was quick to imitate her. The others did not.

“It’s been a while,” she said. “I’m sorry our last meeting ended so poorly.”

“It’s alright Pike,” he said. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed you. I always do.” He smiled. “They miss you too, you know? I might not know much anymore but I know that.”

There were tears in Pike’s eyes as she stared up at him. “I miss them so much it hurts. I—I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

The silence that followed was far too long. Jester fidgeted. After what felt like hours she couldn’t take it anymore, scraping together words into a haphazard pile. Before she could release them however, he spoke.

“Every story has an ending. Sometimes these are happy. Sometimes they are not. But it is time for the story of Vox Machina to end, so that a new one may be written. Once, I would have like that ending to be a happy one. Now, I fear death may be the only option.”

“But how?” Nott asked. “They’re so powerful.”

“Their fate is not for me to decide. It never was, even when this world was still mine. You on the other hand, I believe each of you have found yourselves with your hands on one of their fates. You must sense it by now.”

“Ja,” said Caleb, “that is true for some of us. Jester and I… and Mollymauk. But we have been unable to find the other pairs, as far as I am aware.”

“Ah, well that is something I can help you with,” he said. “But first… it appears we’re a few members short.”

“Yeah!” Jester perked up. “Beau and Molly! Allura wouldn’t let us go back for them. Are they alright, do you know?”

“Always such a hassle to split the party,” he sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The eye on his forehead closed, the light that enveloped him seemed to grow a little brighter.

_“Suddenly,”_ he narrated, and they all sensed the weight to his words, knowing not to interrupt, _“a pit materializes beneath your feet, silent and without ceremony. Then, you’re plunging down into inky blackness.”_

As he trailed off, voice hanging in the air like reverb, a crack of light appeared high above. It was not the eerie kind that ran through this place like veins. It was sunlight, warm and familiar.

They heard them before they saw them. Molly and Beau were, understandably, screaming their heads off as they fell from an indeterminate height. Caleb stepped forward fearfully, already muttering an incantation under his breath.

Allura stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “There’s no need. They will be fine.”

When they hit the partially rendered floor it rippled like water, seeming to dissolve from the transfer of kinetic energy. Molly and Beau were half submerged in a pool of something that was not quite liquid and not quite light.

“Holy… What the…” Beau breathed. “Fuck!”

“Hey!” Molly greeted; the first to notice their presence.

Caleb offered him a hand. “Are you alright?”

“No!” Beau yelled.

Molly accepted his gesture, using Caleb to help free himself from the pool. “I think so,” he answered. “I mean, I feel fine. Though to be honest, I haven’t the foggiest idea what’s going on.”

Molly was completely dry as he stepped up to stand on _solid_ ground beside Caleb. Droplets of light dripped off him, dissolving into nothingness in the air.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Fjord asked.

“We’re so sorry we left!” Jester blurted out. “I didn’t want to. But Vox Machina was right there and…”

“S’all cool Jester,” Beau cut her off. “We may have… uh… ended up back in Tal’Dorei. Keyleth did a thing with a tree, it’s a long story. I thought that was pretty crazy but looking at where you guys ended up I’m not so sure.”

She and Molly took a moment to absorb their surroundings.

“Who’s that?” Molly asked, pointing up to the watcher on the throne.

He was so quiet it was easy to forget he was there. His eyes were glowing pits, yet still they could tell he was looking at them.

“A god…” Caleb said. “Or something.”

“The god of fate,” said Nott, who always had been sharper than people gave her credit for. “When Vox Machina broke fate in this world I bet they came here to do it,” she looked up at the watcher, “isn’t that right?”

“Excellent detective work Nott,” he said, laughter hidden in his voice, behind the serious calm. “I am the god of fate, though I don’t know if I would have called it that, had you not said it. It is good. Simple. I like it. Destiny, fate, plot… me; whatever you wish to call it. It is one of the three great forces that create the universe.”

“Three?” Pike asked. “I thought there were only two. At least there were only two that Vox Machina knew about, when we were…” she trailed off.

“It is difficult to notice something when you are immersed in it,” he said. “Like I said, these three forces are the most powerful things in the universe. Vox Machina had to control all of them in order to wrench the universe off its course.”

They all listened, enraptured. There was something about him, something which was simultaneously both calming and terrifying, something that was painfully familiar.

“Fate, chance, and choice,” he counted them out on his fingers. “Vax destroyed the first with the tools I gave him. Percy has something which bends the second to his whim. And the third… they have always had. With your arrival you bring your own, choices to overcome theirs.”

“So that’s how we defeat them?” Fjord asked. “Fix fate and chance, somehow?”

“You make that sounds simple,” Caleb muttered. “How?” He looked up at the watcher.

“Chance is a little more straightforward,” he said. “I have no idea where it came from, but Percy has a golden dice that allows him to get luckier than even Vax. It is an artifact of immense power, but not one which I created. At least, not consciously. You need to get it away from him and give it to me. But I warn you, he will not willingly part with it. You may very well have to kill him.”

None spoke, all remembering their previous encounters with the man in question. None relished having to face him again.

“And fate?” Caleb asked.

“Oh Caleb,” he sighed, “fate-touched like Vax’ildan before you. Fixing fate… fixing fate will be difficult. Sometimes fate is worse. To fix fate all you have to do is give this world back to me. For though I made it, it is you who allows it to be mine.”

“How do we do that?” Fjord asked.

“You have to want to. I made this whole world for them and they hate me for it. I think at least some of you must understand, the desire to tear reality apart, remake the past, present, and future in your own image, rather than face loss.”

Caleb did not speak. He had not been speaking before, but this was a different kind of muteness. Of course, no one noticed aside from Caleb himself and the man on the throne.

“Sometimes I do not feel like I can even blame them for hating me,” he continued. “They have been through terrible things, more terrible than I intended. But fate is only one of three forces, and sometimes one must just allow the chips to **_fall as they may_**.”

“How can they hate you?” Jester asked, indignantly. “I know I’ve only just met you, but you’re very nice! I just feel it!”

“They sound terribly ungrateful to me,” said Molly, crossing his arms. “If you really are the god who made the whole world.”

General murmurs of agreement spread through the group. They felt many emotions they could not explain, like a creeping discomfort, and a buried, inexplicable guilt.

“Do not be so quick to judge,” said the creator. “You may grow to hate me too… in time.”

He was staring at him, Molly realized. All three eyes trapped him in a powerful gaze. Did the others notice? Molly wondered. Did they notice how sad he looked? Caleb was the only other to pick up on the direction of the creator’s attention, and this moment of tension was quickly swept away as the group broke out into a chorus of disagreement.

Of course, they would give the universe back to him. It was his, after all.

“So.” It was Fjord’s firm voice of reason that silenced the rest of the discussion. “This is all a lot to take in. Seems like it might be best to take things one step at a time. First things first, get this magic dice away from Percy. Is that right?”

“That is correct,” he answered. “So, what’s next? Where do you wish for me to send you?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Jester cut in. “I thought you were going to tell us who’s who. You said you knew everyone’s fate twins, or whatever.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten you don’t all already know. I think on some level, you all must feel it, but I’ll tell you all the same.” The God of Fate looked down on them, looking as fond as a glowing, alien entity could. “Jester, Mollymauk, Caleb, I take it you’ve already deduced the identities of your counterparts.”

“Me too, actually,” Beau interjected. At the others’ confused expressions, she continued. “Keyleth, the druid. She’s not like the others. She’s not living in reality. She’s dangerous, I’ll admit that. But I don’t think she’s evil.”

“She did almost kill me,” Molly said. “But Beau would know. She can probably feel it, just like I can feel that whatever is left of Percy is far beyond saving.”

“What about you two?” the man on the throne asked Fjord and Nott. “I have to admit, I’m curious.”

They stared up at him for a moment, Fjord shifted uncomfortably.

“Probably Grog, I figure,” he said it like a question. “There was just this look in his eyes I recognized. And that sword…”

“That’s correct.”

All eyes went to Nott. “I’m not stupid,” she said. “I can do the math. That leaves me with Scanlan. I mean… I guess he’s short. And I’ve been informed he’s also not the biggest fan of goblins.” She sighed in frustration, staring up into the endless blackness of the void. “This is so stupid! What are we doing?”

“Surviving,” said Caleb, “like we always have.” Turning to the god, he asked, “so you tell us. What’s next? Where do we go? I assume the correct answer is to wherever Percival is.”

“I can’t make your plans for you,” he said, “I can send you anywhere in Exandria you desire, though I cannot send you home.” He sighed, echoing Nott. “Percy is amassing forces in Emon. He wishes to keep conflict away from Whitestone.”

“Then we got to Emon,” said Fjord. “We can’t hide from this, we’ve learned that. So that means we have to face it.”

“I will not lie to you, the task that lies ahead of you is incredibly dangerous. Wherever Percy is, the rest of Vox Machina is bound not to be far away. In your current state, you will be incapable of facing them.” He smiled a huge smile that filled his audience with both excitement and fear. “I have never been more grateful for milestone based leveling. I’ll send you all to Emon. But before you go, I have one final gift to give you. When you face Vox Machina you will do so, maybe not as equals, but as close to it as I am able to get you.”

There was no time to ask questions or to have second thoughts. He began to glow brighter, until it was impossible to look directly at him. The pulses that ran outward through the threads came at a faster and faster pace until the light was so bright and all-encompassing they were lost in it.

When they returned to themselves, their bodies lay among the underbrush of the forest that boarded Emon. All in The Mighty Nein instantly knew something was different. They were different.

In the sky above the city, airships circled.

A new chapter had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's poppin? I was doing some other stuff for a while, but it looks like I'm still working on this when I feel it.
> 
> I started this fic so long ago this version of The Mighty Nein I'm writing is like a time capsule. But the story is still fun, and the aesthetic is still aesthetic. 
> 
> Tell me what you think? This chapter was a bit of a thing.


	15. Frontline Decisions

Gilmore’s Glorious Goods was a boarded-up storefront in the city of Emon. Peeling purple paint set it apart from the rest of the general dreariness that inhabited the city, but the boards and broken windows cancelled out any positive effect this might have had. Still, Molly was glad they’d chosen it as their base of operations. He liked the decorations, as dust covered as they were. Currently, he was alone in the store. Those not out scouting hid below in the secret cellar. He wandered the barren shelves, tracing fingernails across well designed furniture and lamenting the motheaten carpet.

Of course, they all knew this shop had once belonged to the man who had died in Westruum. They just didn’t talk about it, at least not around Pike and Allura. Molly felt he might have liked to get to know Gilmore, but the man had died defending Caleb, and that was not something he could bring himself to wish away.

Molly also needed this alone time to try and figure out the extent of his new powers. They were intuitive, to a certain extent, but for him especially, they felt weird. It was strange to know more of what it meant to be a blood hunter without the pieces of Lucien these revelations usually brought to the surface. It felt artificial to be stronger, faster, without the scars to prove how he’d gotten here. They’d been here almost two days now, and he still didn’t feel ready. Caleb, on the other hand, brimmed with a new-found confidence. He spent hours pouring over his books, muttering to himself, barely taking any time to eat or sleep. And he wasn’t the only one whose behaviour had changed

Beau spent a lot of time meditating, which was so unlike her it had Molly a little worried. Fjord had dreams, terrible dreams that sent power surging through his body, sometimes even when he was awake. Molly had overheard Jester speaking with someone, and when he’d rounded the corner he’d watched as a spectral figure faded from view. Whatever had happened to the gods in this world, it appeared The Traveller was still among them.

“Hey Molly!” A familiar, shrill voice drew his attention to the upper balcony of the store.

Then, there was Nott. She moved with a fluidity that made her difficult to notice even when she was standing in front of you. The way she slipped through the shadows seemed almost like teleportation. Currently, she perched on the banister above him, before sliding down and executing a perfect flip, landing on a table so that they were at eye level.

“How did it—” Molly’s eyes found an unexpected splash of colour perched between Nott’s ears. “What is that?”

The red cap was in a design he wasn’t familiar with. He decided he liked it.

“Well,” said Nott. “Sneaking around, delivering messages, trying to get a feel for discontent in the populous… it feels a lot like we’re leading a revolution.”

“I suppose we are,” said Molly.

“Exactly! So, I figured I was going to need a beret.” She tipped her hat, striking a pose. “I stole this on the way back. What do you think?”

“I like it. It looks good on you.”

“I should probably go downstairs and report,” said Nott, a little bit of worry creeping into her big, yellow eyes. “Though I could summarize it for you right now: more bad guys.”

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

She sighed. “Maybe your right… as much as every instinct is telling me to run. It almost feels like my intuition is a separate person, like my body knows better than my mind. It’s weird.”

“Agreed,” said Molly. “I do know this. A god capable of giving this sort of blessing is certainly a very powerful god.”

Nott hopped down onto the floor. “Is everyone down there?”

“I think so,” Molly said. “I haven’t really been paying the closest attention.”

When they slid down the ladder into Gilmore’s bunker, Molly noted that Nott had been the last to return. The gang was all here; sitting on crates or broken chairs, leaning against the walls. A map of Emon was spread across a large box in the centre of the room.

“I found where The Clasp is holed up,” Nott announced. “It wasn’t hard. I just followed some thieves' cant in the sewers and looked for the darkest corner.”

“That means they won’t be there very long,” said Beau. She leaned against the wall near the ladder, arms crossed, a fair distance from the rest of the group.

“Honestly,” said Pike, “it’s a miracle they’re still around at all. I’m surprised Vox Machina hasn’t wiped them out entirely. We were never on the best of terms with The Clasp.”

“Easier said than done,” said Beau. “There’ll be things like The Clasp as long as there are people. The crime underbelly of a city isn’t an invading army, it’s disenfranchised people, and there are plenty of those here. Kill their leaders and more will take their place.”

“Well hopefully they’ll be willing to help,” said Fjord, looking up from where he’d been staring intently at the map. “This is their fight too, but it will be a dangerous one. Did you talk to them, Nott?”

“Nope,” the goblin was quick to reassure. “I thought the rule was I wasn’t supposed to do the talking.”

“You did well, Nott,” said Caleb, from his place opposite Fjord. “We all have our strengths, and yours is not diplomacy. We’ll have one chance to make contact. We need to make it count.”

He’d been so much more confident since they’d been given the powers. Strangely, it didn’t surprise Molly all that much. He’d always seen this part of Caleb, concealed just below the surface.

Pike spoke up. “Now that we’re all back, let’s catch everyone up on the other orders of business.”

Allura nodded. “We need to make contact with the rebels. We’re not the only ones sick of the One Exandria Government. We’ve had followers from day one. I’ve been in contact with Zahra. She says she’s here in Emon. She managed to get what was left of the Westruum rebel cell to Kymal. Now, they’re making their way here.”

“A lot of our hopes seem to be riding on taking this city,” said Beau. “I’m not sure I’m a fan. Couldn’t they just… destroy the whole thing?”

“We have to believe not all of them are far enough gone for that,” said Pike. “Also, I’m not sure if they have something in their arsenal capable of that.”

“At their level of magical ability, I would guess there are several among them capable of shape-changing into dragons,” said Caleb. “I believe I am, though I haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Pike flinched. “If they don’t see the irony in that course of action, then they really aren’t the friends I once knew.”

“So,” said Fjord, “it sounds like we have two orders of business. Talk to The Clasp and find Zahra. I’d figure the former’s probably a bit more dangerous, then again, even being in this city is dangerous.”

“There are more soldiers than before,” said Nott. “They’re patrolling every inch of the city. I can slip by them, but I’m not so sure about the rest of you.”

“We’ll have to move through the sewers,” said Beau. “Fjord and I found a nearby entrance when we were scouting earlier.”

“I’ll warn you that the smell is not exactly pleasant,” Fjord confirmed.

“Then,” Beau continued, “Nott will hopefully be able to lead us back to The Clasp.”

“We’re short on time,” said Allura. “The longer we give Percy to fortify his position the more difficult this will be.”

The current plan was simple and incredibly vague, leaving room for the inevitable monkey-wrench to be thrown in it. They needed to get Percy alone. If they were to stand a chance, he needed to be separated from the rest of Vox Machina, as well as his forces. To do this they would need a distraction, several sparkling lures to scatter their enemies. Also, they would need to—somehow—keep eyes on Percy himself so that they would actually be able to capitalize on the distraction.

Allura had proposed a solution for the first half. It required utilizing what remained of the research she, Gilmore, and Anna Ripley had been doing, which had brought them to this universe in the first place. Apparently, Zahra had some remaining samples of a substance called residuum. This was the green glass they’d seen clutched in Ripley’s hand when she’d materialized before them. It conducted magic. Molly didn’t understand much more than that. Caleb did. He peppered Allura with hungry questions, never satisfied with the answer, always wanting more. Molly could recognize that look in his eyes. Caleb had plans. The clockwork in his brain was always spinning. For once, Molly was put slightly at ease by the fact he was fairly sure he knew what the human was aiming for. Caleb wanted to get them home. He had unfinished business in the other universe; they all did.

Molly zoned in just in time to realized he’d missed the majority of this planning session. He doubted it had changed much from the previous plans he’d been busy mulling over. There had probably been a lot of circular talk, calls for urgency followed by inaction.

“So, it’s settled,” said Fjord. “A smaller group will go to meet up with Zahra while we attempt to make contact with The Clasp.”

It appeared they were splitting the party. Nerves tensed in his stomach at the idea, but he stayed silent. He was itching to get moving, and argument would be counterproductive to that goal.

“I’ll be in contact with her using sending,” said Allura. “So, I’ll have to go with this smaller group.”

“I will go as well,” Caleb added, quickly.

Zahra had the residuum after all. Caleb needed to get his hands on it as quickly as possible. His curiosity burned in his eyes.

When no one else spoke up immediately, Molly decided to fill in the gap. “I suppose I’ll come too; play the bodyguard for you squishy wizards.”

“Perfect,” said Fjord. “The rest of us will go to The Clasp, then?”

There was a round of affirmation, leaving the party split five to three.

It wasn’t until after nightfall that Molly found himself outside. He’d just pushed his way out through a manhole cover near the Emon docks, motioning for the two still below to join him. Caleb and Allura emerged into the night. The alley wasn’t wide enough to stand side-by-side, smelling heavily of saltwater and piss. All three were bundled in dark cloaks, hoods pulled low. Needless to say, the outfit wasn’t to Molly’s taste. He hadn’t had anything to wear that felt like himself since he’d been forced to dispose of his bloodstained jacket. As if he’d needed another reason to want to kill Percy.

“Zahra’s instructions were decent,” said Allura, “but finding the specific warehouse may take some time.”

Most of her face was obscured, one blonde curl escaping the hood, frizzy from the humidity.

“Could we scry?” Caleb asked.

“We could if you wish, but there is no guarantee we’ll see a useful landmark. It might also be best we not attempt it in the open.”

“You’re right, of course. Lead on.”

Molly held up a finger, creeping towards the end of the alley. Not too far away, he could hear the ocean.

“I can send Frumpkin ahead,” Caleb hissed. “Better for scouting, no?”

Molly peered back over his shoulder. “I wasn’t so much scouting as planning to take the shots, when there’s inevitably a line of soldiers waiting for us out there.”

Caleb rolled his eyes.

“Plus,” Molly added, “there’s a good chance that they’re already watching us, that they already know where we are. I’m really only using stealth for the show of it.”

“Don’t say that,” Allura protested, “pessimism will get us nowhere.”

“I wasn’t being pessimistic. I’m excited. Can’t you tell?”

No line of gunfire met him as Molly stepped out onto the docks. The night was cloudy and humid, the kind of weather that felt an inch from rain, like it was holding its breath before a downpour. The Emon docks were massive and sprawling, though this section of them—at least—were empty. Despite the dreariness, the harbour was a field of twinkling lights. Boats of different sizes sat at anchor, some moored to the boardwalk, looming over them, and others bobbing on the waves, so far out they were just specks.

Caleb had moved out to stand beside him, also staring at the water. “Before we came here, had you ever seen the ocean?”

Slowly, Molly shook his head. He hadn’t really thought about it. On arriving in Emon, going to the beach really hadn’t been on the top of their to-do list.

“Me neither,” Caleb admitted. “It is something to behold, no?”

“It’s powerful,” said Molly, “more powerful than us, even more powerful than them.”

“Maybe.”

Molly did not argue, but he dreaded to think what hubris of Caleb’s dared to place pittances like the guns of Percival on the same level as this ancient shaper of continents. The waves crashing against the wooden pillars beneath their feet marked a steady rhythm as they followed Allura. The rush of water did wonders to mask any sounds they made.

“Do you have a sense of what you’re capable of?” asked Caleb, softly. “We’ve had so little time to adjust.”

“I… I understand enough. For me, at least, so much of what has changed is in my body. I’m faster, stronger. I can take more of a hit. Though that’s the same for all of us, isn’t it?” Molly paused, awkwardly. Caleb was staring at him. They were walking shoulder to shoulder, the wizard studying him like he was a bug trapped under a microscope. “Though…” Molly struggled, “I feel like I should be asking you the same question.”

“I am unsure if I am capable of explaining it.”

“Try me.”

“It feels as if I have been trying to see my whole life, then that man snapped his fingers and suddenly I can see everything. It is like I can see the threads of the world, the intricate stitches in the tapestry of reality. I pour over my books, and realize I can write the blueprints to change it. It is everything I’ve ever wanted.” Caleb paused, the old vacant expression settling over his features for a moment. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“That’s something we can both agree on,” Molly placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It feels a bit like I’ve stolen someone else’s body. Not a huge fan of that, on principle.”

Caleb shook his head. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It is another chance. One I didn’t deserve. This is for the best, Molly. You’ll see.”

Maybe he would. Molly said nothing. But in the back of his mind there was something, like a heartbeat. No, like a clock. To put it into words was impossible, so he did not try, but he could feel the glowing eyes of the god of fate, watching him, waiting. The steady rhythm of it faded into the background like the sound of the waves. It felt like powerful magic, the kind that tore universes apart. _I’m sorry Caleb._ To be in this universe was not a good thing. It was sick, dying. If Molly knew anything, it was that he would stop at nothing to make sure his friends survived this.

One of the airships passed directly overhead, the trio—having seen it coming—dropped below the docks, crouching on a flimsy landing used for smaller boats. Light filtered down through the slats until the hulking behemoth moved on, floating in lazy patterns across the Emon skyline.

Some of the boats in the harbour were warships. They gave them a wide berth, darting between the buildings of the city as Allura muttered to herself, too quiet and fast for Molly to make out what she was saying. Just like those in the sky, the ships in the water were looming metal husks. Everything Percy touched smelled the same, like metal and charcoal. It all looked the same, lifeless, metal and clockwork.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Molly tried to ignore it.

“I think that’s the place,” Allura said.

She pointed to where the land jutted out a little, to a building built at the very edge of it, so low it was almost level with the waves. This was the second time she’d said it tonight. The first had been retracted as they’d approached, but this time Allura stayed silent as they crept towards it. Zahra had allegedly arrived by boat. Maybe he was a pessimist, but Molly had a bad feeling. This city was locked down like a steel trap. Could the tiefling truly have made it in undetected? Caleb had said she was rather powerful, so maybe…

This warehouse was the sort that allowed ships to sail into, with an open side facing the harbour. As they approached, it was deafeningly quiet. Allura scanned the closest door with a discerning eye.

“It’s unlocked, and it seems safe enough.”

“Wait,” Molly stopped her before she could open it, “I know you’re trying to save your spells, but could you try getting a hold of Zahra again, just to be sure?”

Allura nodded, touching the side of her head and whispering something under the breath. Her eyes rolled back so that they were only whites. Then, she blinked, focusing back in.

“There was no answer.” Her voice was hoarse.

“That is a bad sign,” said Caleb, “just to respond requires nothing of her.”

“We spoke just a few hours ago.” Allura’s voice was rising slightly, and Molly pressed a finger to his lips. “We have to go in,” she insisted, “we must find her.”

The subtext was clear, at least to Molly. She couldn’t lose anyone else. Allura had lost far too much already. There was ice in her blue eyes. A war had already been fought here, and they walked among the ruins. Molly and Caleb locked eyes. A silent question passed between them.

“We must.” Allura looked at Caleb. “You and I are both capable of making a rather speedy exit if need be, but we cannot leave now.”

A beat of silence. “Very well,” Caleb said, hand resting on the door. “Stay close, Mollymauk.”

“Always, darling.” A dismissive smirk, a dismissive tone. He would face Percy with flippant disregard, just like every challenge before.

Together they entered, old hinges deafening in the silence. The interior was large and void of life. The cavernous space had to be half of the massive building they’d seen from outside. It was stacked high with crates and barrels, rows and rows of them. Unmarked wood and undescriptive metal cubes. It was all too generic as they wound their way through the stacks, moving towards the raised catwalk on the far wall. From the other side came the smell of the ocean and the ever-present crashing of waves.

Only a dozen feet from the stairs up, the slightest rattle of metal from above caught their attention.

“Zahra?” Allura hissed.

“Not quite.”

A man emerged from the shadows, and moved to the banister, looking down at them. He wore well-polished bronze armour, long brown hair braided loosely down his back.

“Kashaw?” Confusion coloured Allura’s voice. She raised a hand as if to cast a spell, but hesitated. “What are you doing here? Where’s Zahra?”

“She’s alive,” came the clipped response. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

“Who is this guy, Allura?” Molly asked. “Is this a running situation or a killing situation?”

She continued to stare up at the man as if he hadn’t spoken.

“If she’s with Vox Machina she’s dead,” Allura pleaded, “you have to know that. Please Kashaw, if you still care for her, leave them, join back with us. It’s not too late. With them we have a chance—”

Kashaw cut her off. “Get your head out of your ass Allura! I’ve heard it a thousand times. Horrible, evil Vox Machina. True villains, right? When you’re watching from your wizard tower it’s easy to pick apart the decisions they had to make on the front lines. I’m not in a position to judge them one way or another, but I do know this. I asked them to help me kill Vesh, and they did it. Without question, they stepped up, stood at my side against the next in a list of unbeatable enemies. War isn’t easy. It isn’t clean. Vox Machina has always done what needs to be done. And for that, they have my loyalty.”

“So Zahra is as good as dead?” Allura asked, tearfully.

“I would never hurt Z! She has a soft heart, and Ripley can be a manipulative bitch. Percy knows that. We’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like you really believe that,” Molly piped up.

“So, you tricked her then?” asked Caleb. “A promise of reunion from an old friend, and she is lead into a trap?”

“I’m keeping her away from you.” He slammed his spear against the catwalk. “Whatever you are, you won’t win. We’ve defeated greater enemies than you.”

“If they kill her,” Allura’s voice was barely above a tearful whisper, yet it carried, silencing the others, “ _when_ they kill her; will you still stand with them? Could you forgive them?”

There was something buried here, unknown to Caleb and Molly. There was nothing they could do but watch Kashaw, as for a moment the anger shattered to reveal regret.

“They regret what happened. But she refused to abandon her church, even when it grew power hungry, turned against her friends. It still hurts them. I can see it.”

“I don’t believe that,” Allura whispered, “and even if I did, I’m not sure it would matter. I’d say remorse doesn’t bring people back, but in Vox Machina’s case that isn’t exactly true.”

“They had no choice.”

There were tears running down Allura’s face, but by her sides balled fists shook with rage. “And if they say the same about Zahra?”

“Percy made me a…” The syllable trailed into nothingness as Kashaw stared past them.

Then, he took off running, dashing through one of the many arches in the stone wall behind him, and throwing his body over the banister on the other side. The air was thick with the smell of metal and charcoal.

“Get down!” Molly hurled himself at Caleb, attempting to shield his body with his own, but the wizard resisted, muttering under his breath.

From a pouch, Caleb withdrew a glass bead, and with a flourish he sent it spinning in the air where it hovered. In the same moment, the boxes and barrels that filled this place exploded outwards, and everything was fire. Molly was still clinging to Caleb in shock as the shockwave reflected harmlessly off an invisible globe of force he had conjured. Flames rolled up the sides in waves, enveloping them entirely. It was so intense Molly could feel the heat even through the power of Caleb’s magic. The world was inferno. Caleb fell to his knees, his breathing ragged, but Molly was too paralyzed to react. Around them, the building was being torn apart.

“Percy!” Allura screamed, her anger near hysteria, her voice barely audible over the raging of the explosion.

As the flames burned themselves out, they revealed an unrecognizable ruin. The metal catwalk was melted and twisted from the heat, chunks of the stone ceiling littering the crater. Caleb was near catatonic, but Molly had no time to snap him out of it. On the other side of the room, in the shadows cast by a slab of broken wall, darkness pooled. Shadow coalesced into something humanoid, and from it stepped Percy. His cloak was clean and unruffled, not a single hair out of place. A large rifle rested casually on his shoulder.

“It is you!” Allura’s voice rang out.

Caleb’s sphere still shimmered around them, but Molly’s gut told him it would be of no use. He stepped in front of Caleb.

“Ah yes, Allura,” Percy answered, calm and taunting, “I understand why you might be eager to see me dead. That business with Lady Kima was regrettable, but she made her choice.”

He levelled his gun, closing one eye and peering through the scope.

“Get behind me, Allura,” Molly warned.

Caleb was still unresponsive, and Allura didn’t follow his directions, instead raising a hand—quivering with rage—as she began to summon power to it.

“Very well,” said Percy. “I do understand. But if you want your revenge, you’re going to have to take it.”

He was faster than Allura, firing off two shots, but Molly was faster now too. He jumped in front of Allura, taking one bullet to the shoulder, the other taking out a chunk of his horn. The pain was intense, but it only helped to focus him. Pressing his blades against the wound, he opened it wider, igniting them with holy light. If Percy truly was back from the grave, Molly would treat him like any other undead.

A sickly green ray shot from Allura’s outstretched hand, but Percy ducked, the magic only managing to singe a bit of his hair before colliding with the wall behind him, where the stone disintegrated to nothing, dust falling to join the rest of the rubble.

Molly’s eyes darted to the side, and he reached out, gripping Caleb’s shoulder

“Snap out of it, Caleb,” Molly begged, “we have to go. I promised I’d stay close. I’m right here, but I need you.”

“We can’t run,” said Allura. “He’s alone, at least for now. We avoided his trap, this might be the best chance we get.”

Caleb’s hand closed around Molly’s wrist, and Molly pulled him to his feet, though the other man remained silent.

“That’s alright with me.” Molly flashed Allura a fanged smile.

There was something about Percy’s confident smile, the taunting edge in his voice, and the demonic energies that set Molly’s hair on end. He felt no sympathy for his counterpart. If there had been softness in this man it was long gone.

Molly pulling Caleb behind him, the trio dived behind a fallen piece of catwalk. The glass bead, which still hung in the centre of the dome, dropped to the ground and shattered. As the magic fizzled out, Percy approached, the large rifle having been exchanged for a smaller gun.

“I’ll try to keep his attention on me,” Molly said.

“End this, Mollymauk,” Allura pleaded, “you may be the only one who can.”

Then, she touched him, and Molly felt the world slow down around him. His body vibrated with a familiar magic, one Caleb had used before. A glowing sword gripped in each hand, he prepared for what was to come.

Caleb spoke, squeezing Molly’s hand in his before letting go. “Good luck. When the time comes, I am unsure if I will be able to face Vax’ildan, but I do know that you are capable of this. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Magic flowed between them, and suddenly Molly felt stronger, more focused, and he rolled out into the open, just in time to duck out of the way of a bullet. Percy was a fair distance away, perched atop a pile of rubble. Molly charged, dodging the hail of bullets. Percy seemed determined to stay out of range, and with his ability to seemingly slip through shadows, he was as fast as Molly, even in his magically enhanced state. As Molly and Percy danced around the crater, Molly attempting desperately to close the distance, Caleb and Allura were not idle. Spikes of rock shot out of the earth, lifting Molly when he needed it and attempting to impale Percy. Lightning flashed in the air like they fought in the heart of a storm instead of a destroyed warehouse. Yet, Molly still failed to reach him. The shadows themselves seemed to bend to Percy’s will, reaching up and grabbing at Molly, trying to weaken him and hold him back.

The guns were terrifying weapons, Percy an incredible shot. Despite the spells the wizards had cast upon him, and his liberal use of cover, Molly was taking more damage than he would have liked. Each shot that did manage to connect was devastating. To make things worse, Percy was not targeting Molly exclusively. Caleb emerged from behind cover to cast a spell and took a bullet to the collarbone. An arc of electricity shot from Percy’s cloak, following the path of his bullet, and Caleb screamed.

Reaching inside himself, Molly grasped his own frustration and squeezed, until the marks on his body began to bleed. And on his pain, on his hatred, he cursed Percy, squeezing his fist closed as Percy’s muscles locked in place. Percy had been jumping from rubble to rubble, now standing about ten feet above Molly. Molly scaled the stone in a fraction of a second, managing to hit Percy three times in quick succession. Scimitars cut into flesh, and when the radiance of his rite met blood, black smoke curled from the wounds. Percy did not bleed as much as a person should have.

Snarling, Percy regained control of his muscles, and a previously unused sword was suddenly in his hand. It deflected Molly’s fourth strike, and with his pepperbox Percy fired a bullet into Molly’s chest. It pierced his armour, and he felt a rib crack before the chunk of metal found a home somewhere inside him. Molly tasted blood, but suddenly Percy was stumbling backwards away from him. A bolt of necromantic energy had collided with Percy’s chest. For a moment his skin went ashy white, black veins crawling across his skin. Percy made a sound somewhere between a cough and a growl, before his eyes went pure black. Black smoke poured from him, sourceless, and he wore it like a blanket. Another bolt of something hit him in the shoulder, and Percy toppled backwards off the rubble.

Rushing to the edge, Molly saw no sign of the other man below him. Clutching his wound, Molly scrambled back to the floor and made his way back to where he knew the wizards to be hiding.

“Molly!” Caleb screamed a warning.

He sent a massive blast of fire towards the ceiling, and Molly looked up just in time to see Percy, hanging upside down from one of the few remaining sections of roof. He did not flinch as the air around him was ignited, and his cloak flared outwards, crackling with energy as it seemed to absorb the majority of the blast. Face slightly blackened, Percy peered through the scope of his rifle and pulled the trigger twice. Both hit Allura, whose cover was now useless against Percy’s new angle.

Suddenly, Molly couldn’t breathe. It was like every muscle in his body had gone limp, and he was unable to stay standing. He crashed to the ground, struggling desperately to catch his breath. Allura had been unable to maintain the Haste spell, and the unnatural speed had been replaced with an all-consuming exhaustion. Molly’s cheek rested against the ground—thick with ash from the explosion. His long nails dug into the unyielding stone as he willed himself to stand. His legs did not respond. Percy managed to get one more shot off at Allura before Caleb shattered the ceiling below his feet with a deafening crack of thunder.

Percy fell. By some miracle, he rolled out of it, getting to his feet not far from where Molly lay. It was impossible. It was superhuman. Allura was on her knees, clutching a bullet wound which had skimmed the side of her neck. Caleb stepped between them, already casting some sort of spell. Desperation finally proved enough, and Molly was able to push himself onto his knees, knuckles white as he clutches his swords.

Caleb and Percy both reached for each other at the same time, grabbing at clothes, skin, anything. While Caleb’s grip drew life from Percy and into himself, Percy’s electrically charged grip caused the wizard to convulse, before losing his grip. Percy flung him to the side like a piece of garbage, electric glove still sparking.

“I am not unkind,” said Percy, “know that all whom I kill with my guns end up… _together_.”

Molly stumbled to his feet, charging at Percy. But he wasn’t fast enough.

“You will be with Lady Kima again. I just can’t promise it will be pleasant.”

There was a flash of fire from Percy’s pepperbox. As he dodged out of the way of Molly’s attack, Molly saw the perfectly round wound which had been left in Allura’s forehead. A single trail of blood ran stark against her pale skin. Another rebel fell to the guns of the king of Exandria. She slumped foreword, and Percy turned the gun on Molly.

Reaching out with his blood, Molly managed to momentarily steal Percy’s eyesight, but the price he payed was bigger than expected and he swayed on his feet as he dodged the haphazard shot. Molly lashed out at Percy from the side, but he could barely reach him through the thick shroud of smoke that now surrounded the other man. Molly was at the end of his rope and he knew it. Percy was not undamaged, but he still stood tall, the confidence on his face unbroken. The glasses still sat on the end of his nose, uncracked and strikingly clean.

Even through the smoke, Molly managed to land a hit, before Percy’s eyesight returned to him. At the same time, three bolts of fire struck Percy in the back, Caleb’s Glove of Blasting smoking slightly, as Molly met his eyes.

 _“We need to go,”_ Caleb’s words pressed silently into his mind.

Molly didn’t have time to respond before Percy fired a particularly well aimed shot to the stomach which knocked Molly backwards and onto his ass, face colliding with the dirty floor once more. He slid to a stop a fair distance away, as Percy advanced towards Caleb.

“You had me worried for a moment there,” the monster admitted. “It was a strategic risk, facing you alone, but worth it for Vox Machina’s success in the other half of this mission.” Percy tapped the side of his head with a blackened finger. “Give in. I’ve been informed the rest of your party has already fallen.”

“You’re lying!”

Caleb released a massive blast of lightning from his palm, but Percy caught it with his strange mechanical glove, which glowed an eerie blue as the energy was absorbed. Those bits that arced away were subsequently absorbed by his cloak. Percy was glowing with power. The first shot he fired, Caleb managed to block, conjuring a Shield like a flinch in front of his face. But Percy was fast, and the next two hit their target. Then, Caleb’s own electricity was reflected at him and he was blasted backwards.

The air smelled like black powder and ozone, and Molly launched himself at Percy, snarling. They were too close for guns, almost nose to nose. It was a sword fight, rapier clanging against scimitars. Percy was good, but this was Molly’s element. The shadows clung to Molly, but he cut through them with radiant blades. But when Percy landed a hit with his needle of a sword the lightning came with it. How many more hits could Molly take? Ultimately, the answer didn’t matter. Instead, he chose to focus on the sheen of sweat which now coated Percy’s face, the tight grind of the other man’s teeth as Molly forced him backwards.

Suddenly Caleb’s hand was on his arm as the wizard collapsed against him. Then, there was light, and air, and they were standing on a street under the night sky.

“I had to,” Caleb breathed, still supporting himself on Molly’s shoulder.

Molly recognized their surroundings. They weren’t far from Gilmore’s Glorious Goods. The wind on his face was cool, and he was hit—all at once—with how painful his abundance of bullet wounds were.

“He would have killed you,” said Caleb, for he must have seen the anger and frustration in Molly’s eyes. “I can’t fix this alone.”

Caleb was scared, and as the world swayed around him, Molly realized the wizard had made the right call. Being on the cusp of death invigorated him, made him more powerful, but if Percy had been telling the truth and they truly were the last ones…

“The others?” Molly asked, dumbly.

He was an inch from unconsciousness, leaning heavily into Caleb, to the effect that it was not clear who was supporting whom.

“Look.” Caleb’s voice cracked.

So, Molly did. It was visible even at this distance. A massive column of smoke rose from the city. Energy still hung in the air, indicative of magic so powerful it did not immediately dissipate. An area of Emon had been levelled. A battle had been fought more devastating than their own.

“We need to…” Molly’s words trailed away to nothing.

“We need to rest,” said Caleb. “Then… Then, I will fix this. I have said those words so much they are like a curse on my tongue, but this time I won’t fail. I won’t fail them. I can’t.”

Molly nodded. “That is something we can both agree on.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes.” Molly echoed the mantra which had been spoken by many before them and would be spoken by many after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming home for the holidays made it easier for me to get this chapter done. So Merry Christmas!
> 
> We have definitely reached the final arc of this fic. Shit has hit the fans, so to speak. There will be a lot more head-on confrontations like this from here forward. Though that does not mean we are near the end. There is still a bunch of stuff that needs to happen.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Your support means the world to me.


	16. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord wakes up alone and takes some time to reflect on his current predicament. Then, he must endure a "conversation" with the darker half of Vox Machina.

When Fjord came to consciousness, he was alone and in pain. His surroundings were dark and metallic, vibrating so slightly that he was unsure if he was imagining it. What the hell had happened? Where the hell was he? Organizing his thoughts was only made more difficult by the pounding headache which threatened to liquify his brain, and by the fact that every time he closed his eyes he saw that familiar yellow eye. It was like the spots that formed behind your lids when you’d been staring at a light for too long, but ever present. Though he doubted Uk'otoa was the source of his headache, his bond with the creature certainly wasn’t helping.

 _Uk’otoa._ The name had come to him like an echoing whisper. _I did not choose you, boy from another place. But yet you come with power like an echo of my own, come with keys to ancient locks. The world is rotten, weak. It has never been so hungry for new gods. Reach out and take it._

_You have learned. You have grown._

_You have consumed—power even I do not know._

_You have provoked—the beings that currently posture at godhood._

_Claim your reward. The carcass of our prey lies twitching._

Fjord slammed his head against the metal floor. The worst part was he was unsure how many of the words he sometimes heard belonged to the sea serpent, and how many were his twisted interpretations of gut feelings. How much of this was just him? Fjord loved the power. There was no use lying to himself about that. He could feel the protentional, a tantalizing lure dangling just out of reach. Despite his appreciation for his new abilities, Fjord couldn’t help but feel a little bitter. Others like Caleb and Beau had been given their gifts without condition, but what the god of fate had given him was something more bidirectional in nature. It felt like a slit had been created in his soul, allowing something foreign to push its way through. Maybe he had already been on this path, but the choices he would have made to get here had been stolen from him.

This had left Fjord with a reckless sort of desperation. If this was the lot that glowing god had placed before him, Fjord was going to press the boundaries of what fate intended until the man himself was forced to manifest before him and tell him to his face what hell he was supposed to do. Did this squirming, whispering thing in his mind really have more of a place in this universe than Vox Machina?

He squeezed his eyes closed in a futile attempt to quell the pounding in his skull. Behind his eyelids, the yellow eye still stared. Always.

_Provoke. Escape._

Escape?

_Disrupt. Claim._

The chains around Fjord’s wrists rattled slightly, scraping against the floor, and the reality of his situation came rushing back. To say things had not gone as planned would be a grave understatement. They had walked into a trap. Flashes of the subsequent battle bombarded him.

Explosions, fire and heat, survived only through their now impossibly durable bodies and healing magic. Monsters had torn through the earth, the grinding jaws of a purple worm and the burrowing claws of a massive dragon; these forms Vox Machina took truer to their nature, Fjord mused. And the sewers of Emon had been exposed to the sky, where a storm turned like an angry eye. They had not had time to think, nor to respond in kind; if they even could have.

“Jester!” he heard his own voice screaming.

There was blood on his hands, on his armour. He heard her screaming, somewhere nearby. There was too much smoke, too much falling rubble. He remembered fighting as blood and dirt ran into his eyes. He remembered Grog Strongjaw, looming, so close he could smell his breath. It smelled like rotting, like meat.

Beau. She was yelling. Her hands were digging into his chest. Dragging. Consciousness was as painful as a blade. Pike, like a glowing beacon of hope, so far away across the battlefield. Beau caught two arrows out of the air, but the third was in her chest. Thorns grew across her, tangling and binding. He remembered seeing Vax’ildan, though maybe it was just a hallucination, as his consciousness slipped. Vax was calm and cold, as if he did not truly exist in the intense heat of the battle. He leaned down, his expression almost kind, and Fjord remembered nothing more.

Until now. The pain, the metal, the slight vibration that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Where were the others? Anxiety descended upon Fjord as he finally sat up, desperately surveying his surroundings. A bout of dizziness made the room spin. Spots appeared at the edges of his vision—like eyes.

He was in a metal box, around ten feet by ten feet. The door was composed of bars, and through it he could see a dim hallway illuminated by an arcane blue light. He had a cuff on each wrist, both attached by chains to the back wall. There was also something around his neck, tight and foreign, though it did not seem to be attached to anything.

Fjord intended to aim an Eldritch Blast at one of the chains. He’d learned recently he was now capable of summoning four beams at a time and figured that would probably be sufficient to break some metal. The problem came when he cast the cantrip and nothing happened. He’d cast the simple spell thousands of times. For him, it was as intuitive as breathing. He was positive he had cast the spell. Yet... The chains hung innocently, undamaged. Fjord switched tactics. Maybe a more physical approach was necessary. He attempted to summon his falchion from its extradimensional space. Nothing.

Quickly cycling through every cantrip he knew, Fjord came to the realization that he was out of options. He took a seat against the back wall of his cell, staring through the bars of the door and waiting. For what, he wasn’t entirely sure, but as time passed his mind began to clear. The pain in his body and head began to fade, and with it his anxiety, which was replaced by boredom and a simmering recklessness. Vox Machina was here, somewhere, and they would come for him. They’d kept him alive for a reason, after all.

It would only be to his detriment to see them as gods and monsters. They were people, not so different from them. He remembered his conversation with the little gnome in the lavish palace, covering up guilt and regret with wealth and drugs. Maybe Scanlan’s rambling had been a strategy to buy time, but Fjord sensed the truth in what he’d said. Vox Machina was fractured. Their cooperation was built on old bonds, which only degraded with time, and maybe on the belief that after what they’d done, no one else would have them. But those were unstable foundations on which to wage a war.

_Provoke._

Fjord sat, watched the door, and breathed.

It was a long time before anything happened, though down here it was hard to tell exactly how long. Fjord had grown almost trancelike, heartrate slow, mind focused.

Heavy footsteps reached him down the hall, like something large was moving. Fjord closed his eyes and when he opened them, he saw exactly what he had been expecting to see. Grog the goliath, peering down at him through the bars. He was so tall his head touched the ceiling, and there was something caked in his beard. Fjord didn’t want to think about what. Though as Grog stared at him, he did not look away, meeting the gaze, like a challenge. Grog was flanked by four guards, all outfitted in the blue uniforms Fjord had come to associate with Percy. All were armed with long rifles and rapiers.

“I don’t know what Percy’s talking about,” boomed the giant, “when he’s saying you have something to do with me. He got me all excited that you were going to be an interesting fight, but it was easy. I thought he was trying to insult me, comparing me to someone so tiny.”

“To be fair,” said Fjord, attempting to keep his tone as unbothered as possible, “we did walk into a trap. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight.”

Grog made a noise with his tongue. “You gotta come talk to Percy now. I did warn you. It would’a been better for you if you’d just let me cleave you in half.”

He motioned to the soldiers, one of whom stepped forward with a ring of keys.

“Don’t try anything. I’d still be happy to cleave you in half.”

“Wouldn’t be my smartest move,” Fjord said, offhandedly, as the soldier entered his cell, slapping heavy cuffs on his wrists and detaching him from the chains. “After all, I’ve got no magic, and it’s five on one.”

Grog was watching him, Fjord could feel it. There was a spark of curiosity in his beady eyes. He led the way, as two guards flanked Fjord on either side. From this angle, Fjord had a good view of his sword where it was strapped across his back. It was a dark onyx, much larger than the falchion, with an odd gleam to it like it was just a little wet, like maybe there was blood on it that hadn’t yet dried.

The passageways here were claustrophobic, barely large enough to fit Grog’s hulking form. A weak blue glow, which he could tell was arcane in nature, emanated from stripes on the wall. Tangles of pipes were intermittently visible, running across the ceiling, as they wound their way upwards through a tight metal stairwell. The vibration was still noticeable.

“How’s Pike?” Fjord asked. “Is she alright?” The concern in his voice was genuine but also intentional.

“I’m not gon’a kill Pike,” came the almost indignant response. “Made sure Percy sent someone to have her patched up real good. She’s on a different airship. Percy wants you all separated.”

So that’s where he was.

“You’ll excuse me for being a little worried, Pike herself said that Percy would kill her on sight.”

“Well you don’t have to worry…” he peered back at Fjord, “’bout that at least. Pike and me had a bit of a falling out over my sword. She didn’t trust me to use it. But we’re still family.”

“Ah,” said Fjord, “that I can understand. But Percy’s the king right, does how you feel matter?”

“He’s not going to kill her,” came the clipped response, Grog’s annoyance not concealed. “Maybe you should be worrying about yourself.”

They emerged in a slightly larger hallway. From one direction, Fjord felt cold air, saw natural light. In the other direction, a large set of double doors sat open. The room on the other side was located at the front of the airship. As Fjord was shoved through by the soldiers, he saw that the curved, back wall of the room was composed entirely of windows. Grey clouds rushed by like water off the bow of a ship. The soldiers quickly stood at attention, and Grog grabbed him with a meaty hand, shoving him forward with such force that his legs buckles. Fjord managed to stop himself from falling completely prone, instead landing on his knees.

A large chair sat facing away from him. Beside it, a shadowy figure stood, also staring out the window. The folded wings identified Vax, who turned to face them, as impassive as ever.

“Welcome, Fjord,” said a voice Fjord had not previously heard. Yet he knew who it belonged to all the same.

Percy’s chair spun to face him, and Fjord got his first good look at the man. Previously, their only encounter had been a brief one in the corridors of Whitestone castle, Percy so consumed by his rage he hadn’t looked human. After all the talk, the placement of this man in the centre of their plans, Percival was underwhelming. That wasn’t to say he didn’t strike an imposing figure, sitting like an aristocrat in a high-backed chair with clouds streaming by on either side, but he was just a human. In fact, he was a human who looked like he’d recently been in a fight. His face showed the telltale blistering of burns, superficial enough, but still visible. Fjord was sure he hadn’t been present during the fight, which could only mean one thing. Molly and Caleb’s mission and gone as poorly as theirs.

“Are my friends alive?” Fjord asked.

Grog stood on Percy’s other side, opposite Vax, arms crossed, looming as if it was his job. And it probably was. All three stared down at him with nothing kind in their eyes, and Fjord felt a little of his anxiety begin to resurface. Focusing on his breathing, Fjord got to his feet.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding between us,” Percy said, “in this situation, I will be the one asking the questions. It would serve you best to answer them.”

Before Fjord had the chance to respond, a large eagle shot in through the doors, its wingbeats ruffling his hair. It took a perch on the back of Percy’s chair, fixing him with an equally piercing gaze. Vax was staring at it, but the other two didn’t acknowledge its presence past nods of greeting.

“So, tell me,” Percy continued, “what were you planning? Don’t hold back on the details and you might live to see your friends again.”

“Uh…” Fjord shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. “We’ve never been the greatest at planning.”

Grog snorted, a ripple of laughter spreading across his massive chest.

Percy was unimpressed. “I’d say that’s rather obvious, given your current predicament. I’m asking what the plan was, not if it was successful.”

Fjord weighed his options. Their short-term plan might have been rocky but long term there were details worth concealing. For example, their conversation with the god of fate, and their knowledge of the powerful item that Percy apparently carried.

“Not to be blunt,” Fjord said to Percy, “but we were plannin’ on killing you.”

“Not a unique goal,” Percy folded his hands and leaned forward.

“We didn’t think it wise to fight all of you at once, and you’re, well… you seem like you’re the leader. We wanted to separate y’all so we could come in quick and take you out.”

There was a stretching pause in which Vax took a few paces forward, as if to get a better look at him.

“I don’t believe you,” said Percy, “Pike and Allura have been standing against us far too long for that to be all there is to it. Pike understands better than anyone that there would be no rest for me on the other side,” his eyes flickered to Vax. “How did you intend to restore what we destroyed? How did you intend to get home? Or…” and a devilish smile curled across his lips, “did you simply intend to take this new power of yours and claim this world for yourselves?”

“I don’t know,” said Fjord, half truth and half lie. “Things have been happening rather fast, and some of the things Allura says go right over my head. Caleb might understand but… Is he—?”

Fjord was cut off as Percy motioned to Grog, who stepped forward and grabbed him by the front of his armour. Fjord was lifted off the ground.

“Would you like to rethink that answer?” Percy asked.

Fjord looked at Vax, searching for some of the kindness he thought he’d seen in his eyes, as he’d leaned over him on the battlefield. But the other man was like a statue, a winged bodyguard at Percy’s left elbow.

“I really don’t know,” Fjord pleaded, “Zahra had some residuum. We were going to use to get your attention.”

“And then?” Percy hissed. “Exandria is ours. My death would have gained you nothing. I could shoot myself in the head right now and it would be meaningless.”

He pressed his pepperbox to his temple and for a second Fjord thought he was really going to do it, but then he relaxed, letting the gun fall limply to his side. The eagle on the back of his chair made a sound of distress. Fjord remembered Scanlan’s story about a soul ripped the shreds, shoved back in a body.

Percy turned to Vax, “you and Grog get him to talk. I know _he_ made contact with them, it’s how they’re this powerful. But I need to know what he told them. We need to know how much they know.”

Nodding once, Vax glided towards where Grog still held Fjord off the ground. Percy slumped back into the chair, radiating exhaustion. Sword wounds were visible in his armour, though any damage that had been done to his body was long gone.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Fjord’s pleas went ignored.

Grog carried him to the wall, slamming him against it so that his head cracked against the glass.

“We’re looking for information on a god.” Grog’s voice was a deep rumble. “Glowing fucker. Talks like he knows you.”

“I thought there weren’t gods anymore,” Fjord attempted, “Pike said y’all did something to them. She wasn’t clear on what.”

He was beginning to panic. Maybe he could say something that would stoke distrust in Percy’s leadership, but he would not be there to reap the benefits. This close to Grog, he could see the bloodlust in his eyes. Fjord could smell it in his noxious breath, there was nothing this creature wanted better than to see him dead at his feet, except for maybe a good fight in doing so. Cut the dog off its leash and maybe it would turn on its master, but not before ripping him to shreds. Maybe he could goad Grog into damaging his collar and returning his magic—if it even worked like that—but even he knew that was unlikely.

“Grog can crush your head with one hand,” said Vax, who had materialized beside him. “And I can make it so that doesn’t kill you, so that he can do it over and over. So, I’ll ask again, what did the god of the threads say to you?”

“The god of what?” Fjord struggled to look at him while Grog held his head in place against the window. “I’ve never known much about gods. I know a few of them, but I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

Grog slammed his head against the glass again, so hard Fjord felt a little blood dampen his hair. They clearly weren’t concerned with breaking it, Fjord thought, a little delirious. The situation was made worse by Vax, who contrasted Grog’s grin with a complete lack of emotion. He surveyed Fjord like he was an insect, cold and uncaring.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “I once saw Grog rip a man’s tongue right out of his mouth.”

“If you did that, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything,” Fjord said. He knew how nervous he sounded, cursed himself for it.

“In that situation, our goal was to send a message,” Percy’s voice floated across the room, “I’m sure they’ll think of something suitable for this one. And can you attempt not to get blood on the glass? It will ruin the view.”

“Whoops.”

Grogs spun, throwing him to the ground, then jamming his boot into Fjord’s stomach, trapping his cuffed hands against his own body. As Fjord gasped for breath, Vax crouched down beside him, a dagger resting casually in his hand.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Fjord rasped.

Faster than Fjord could process, Vax jammed his dagger through his shoulder. It went right through, sticking into the floor beneath him.

“Fuck!” Fjord screamed, trying to squirm away from the pain, but between the foot in his stomach and Vax’s hand on the dagger hilt, he was stuck in place. “Fuck man! Fuck…”

Vax twisted the knife and Fjord screamed again. Staring up at Grog, Fjord spoke, too far gone to notice that his accent had slipped.

“Pike… she believes that without that sword you’d go back to how you were before. She says you’re not a monster. She’s wrong, I see that now. I think I understand that better than anyone. I understand what you are.” Fjord turned his head, letting a cheek rest against the floor as he looked at Percy. “I really don’t know anything, does that even matter to you?”

“If I believed you, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Percy said, “I planned for this eventuality. Seeing as you’re Grog’s counterpart, I realized that some things of importance might have gone over your head… Thankfully, I have a plan B.” He touched his ear. “Bring her in.”

Vax removed his dagger, and Grog lifted him to his feet, as another figure was dragged through the door by a group of soldiers. It was Beau, more heavily chained than Fjord, manacles leaving her nearly unable to walk.

During Fjord’s interrogation, the eagle on the back of Percy’s chair had retreated into itself, feathers puffed out, and wings hiding its face. Now, it remerged, and croaked softly.

“Fjord?” Beau asked, as their eyes locked.

At that moment, Grog sucker punched him in the face with a gauntleted hand. Something cracked, and one of Fjord’s teeth went skittering across the floor. The only thing which stopped him from joining it was Vax’s grip on his arm. Blood from his nose dripped down over his lip. Beau was yelling, thrashing against her restraints.

Vax shoved Fjord into Grog’s chest, and the goliath unsheathed Craven Edge, holding it under Fjord’s chin. The blade was almost as big as his torso, jagged and seeping shadow, and Fjord went tense, afraid even a twitch could inadvertently open his throat.

“Your friend has been less than cooperative,” Percy addressed Beau, “so I’ll make this easy for you. Tell me what I want to know, or Fjord dies. I can think of uses for him, if I do keep him alive, but if not, then Grog will have the pleasure of being the first one of us to dispatch their… _counterpart_. The choice is yours.”

Beau’s eyes darted desperately around the room, settling on the eagle.

“Keyleth, what the fuck?” she demanded. “Look around. Is this okay with you?”

The pieces clicked together in Fjord’s head. The eagle was the druid, of course it was.

“She is not your concern at the moment,” said Percy. “I’m looking for information on the god that awarded you these new powers.”

Grog’s arm held Fjord in place like a steel clamp, his toes barely touching the ground.

With a yell of frustration, Beau tore herself free of the two soldiers holding her chains. She continued to address Keyleth as if Percy hadn’t spoken, taking a few awkward steps towards the eagle, shackles dragging across the floor.

“You can’t keep lying to yourself! If this is what you’ve become at least look it in the fucking face. You can’t hide from this, you hear me?”

For the first time since Fjord had entered the room, Percy got to his feet. He closed the distance to Beau and grabbed her by the throat. Electricity from his glove coursed through her and she convulsed.

Tossing her back in the direction of the soldiers, he said, “I suggest you get a better grip this time.”

They were quick to comply, each of Beau’s chains now being held by several men and women. But Beau’s outburst must have had some effect for the eagle unravelled like the contents of an overstuffed pack. Feathers gave way to flesh, and a woman stood hunched beside the chair. She was taller than Percy, and very thin. Her red hair was matted, her clothing rags and feet bare. She blinked out at the room like a dazed animal. Though she had been present during the battle, Fjord had never seen her true form. Keyleth was not what he had been expecting, even after Scanlan’s description. She was a wild thing, incredibly out of place among the sleek technology of the airship.

“Keyleth,” Vax exclaimed, seeming to have forgotten about Fjord, at least for the moment.

She didn’t even look at him. Instead, she stared at Beau.

“You’re sure taking your sweet time about this,” she said, voice a little hoarse as if she was not accustomed to speaking.

“Keyleth,” Percy purred, softer than they’d ever seen him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Don’t let her get in your head. Trust me, I know what it’s like, seeing them. You helped me through it all those years ago, just like I’ll help you now.”

“But…” Keyleth’s eyes darted between Beau and Percy.

Though Percy and Keyleth seemed oblivious, Fjord was acutely aware of what her appearance had done to the illusion of Vax’ildan. The statue was gone, replaced with a nervous man with wide, dark eyes, hanging at the edges of the room like he was afraid to get closer.

“Take responsibility for your own life,” Beau snarled. “Look at what they’ve become. Look at what you’ve become!”

“We are death,” said Keyleth, like one might state a minor inconvenience, “we know no loss, but have no kin. We watch forever, neither living nor dying.”

Beau screamed in frustration, and Percy laughed—a brief chuckle, easily missed, but deeply telling.

“I hate this,” Keyleth told him, “it’s like losing you, slowly, over and over again, forever.”

“Fucking nuts,” Grog hissed under his breath. Whether it had been directed at him or at no one in particular, Fjord was unsure, but the sword still sat snuggly under his chin.

Keyleth looked at Beau. “I stopped trying. It’s not worth it. I’m so tired of being the one. You understand.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m sorry.” Percy squeezed Keyleth’s hand. “I thought it only fair to have you be here, but I realize now that was thoughtless of me. Go. Check on the others.”

“I’m fine,” Keyleth said, indignantly.

“Of course. But why suffer through this when it’s unnecessary?”

It appeared as if Percy had swayed her, but as Keyleth made to move towards the door, Beau chimed in again. “What did we do to deserve this, Keyleth? What did Fjord and I do to deserve torture? To lose our freedom?”

“Fjord confessed your plan to assassinate me literally a minute before I brought you in here,” sighed Percy.

“Come on, Keyleth,” said Vax, softly. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here either. We could go check on Vex.”

Whether intentional or not, it was Vax’s comment that finally sent the druid striding towards the exit.

“You should stay,” she said, her tone not angry, but almost purposefully indifferent. “They need you. Clearly, this is your area of expertise.”

“Fuck you!” Beau yelled after her.

The doors swung shut behind her, and for a moment the room was completely silent, aside from the humming of the airship. Vax slunk back to standing in the shadow behind Percy’s chair, and Grog dragged Fjord across the floor so that he was displayed prominently in front of Beau.

“Back to business.” Percy reclaimed his seat with a weary huff. He nodded at Grog. “Break his arm.”

Fjord squeezed his eyes shut, biting down so hard on his bottom lip he tasted blood. Beau’s protests were an immediate and powerful torrent.

“…wait, wait! Don’t do it! I’ll tell you. Just…”

“Don’t Beau,” Fjord pleaded. “It don’t matter what happens to me. It’s about the others, keeping them alive. I know you know that.”

“Shut up, Fjord.” Her face was heavy with defeat, and Fjord realized that no amount of pleading on his part was going to stop her.

“If you two refuse to talk then they’ll be next,” Percy helpfully offered.

“I’m talking alright, I’m talking. Let him go. You’re stressing me out with that whole sword thing.”

“Beau…” Fjord warned.

“What does it matter if they know?” she shot back. “Either we escape and succeed, or we don’t. Information isn’t the limiting factor here.”

“We don’t understand enough to know what we’re giving away.” Fjord protested.

“I’m ignoring him,” Beau informed Grog. “Let him down, or get him out of here, or something. I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

“Do it,” Percy said, and Grog finally sheathed the sword, setting Fjord solidly back on the ground.

Fjord released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, also noting that his legs were quivering slightly. He hoped no one noticed.

“You want to know about that god of fate guy, right?” Beau asked. “Well me and Molly were visiting Keyleth in Zephrah. Well, but visiting I mean escaping from. We were heading down from the mountains when a pit just opened up, right underneath us, full of glowing threads…”

To Beau’s credit, she truly seemed to be telling the story to the best of her ability. Fjord was sure Caleb would have been capable of doing a better job with his perfect memory, but her account was painfully thorough all the same. Vax and Percy watched with wrapped interest, but Grog became obviously board, leaving Fjord to wander over to the window.

“So, this is what you’re after?” Percy asked, removing something from inside his coat. “I have to say, I expected as much.”

From a small, felt bag he removed a golden sphere. Fjord couldn’t make out much about it from this distance, past the fact that it was glowing slightly. All eyes in the room were drawn to it instinctively. He held it between his forefinger and thumb, and a chill ran up Fjord’s spine, not unlike when he stared into the dodecahedron. Then, just like that, it was gone, Percy stowing it back within his armour.

“It’s the other part that has me intrigued,” said Vax. “He told you that you can restore the threads of destiny simply by _‘giving the world back to him’_ , as if you have that power? By this point I consider myself to have a good grasp of such things. So, if he’s lying to you, then for what purpose?”

“Or you’re wrong,” Percy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, “or there are things you don’t yet understand.”

Vax made a noise of annoyance, crossing his arms across his chest, but stayed silent.

“His continued influence over Exandria is too big a threat,” Percy said, “your progress recently has been minor. If he reached them in the mountains outside Zephrah, maybe that will be of some use.” He turned this attention to Fjord. “What about the rest of you? How did you find him?”

No one held Fjord in place. He simply stood cuffed and collared in the middle of the room. Pathetic. He stared at the ground, refusing to answer.

“Don’t worry,” Beau was quick to intercept, “Jester told me. It was Allura that lead them to him. She brought them to some swamp, then Pike cast a spell in front of a weird tree.”

Percy’s eyes lit up. “Stilben?” he asked Vax.

“It must be.”

“Go. Search the locations. We’ll be fine here. I’m not sure if he was involved in bringing them here, but he’s clearing making some sort of move now. We can’t be on the defensive.”

Vax nodded. “And you’re still serious about returning to Whitestone? That’s not like you.”

“It was a difficult decision, but we have the majority of them in captivity, and all of my tools are there. It would be terribly inconvenient to relocate everything to Emon.” Percy smiled at Beau and Fjord. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll all be quite comfortable there. Not to mention, I haven’t had nearly enough time to research how Ripley got them here in the first place. I know she used the nexus but…” he trailed off. “It’s times like this that I wish things with Tary had ended… differently.”

“That was your fault and you know it.”

“Was it?”

Sighing, Vax said, “I’ll go, Percival, as you wish.” He paused. “Just… watch your back. I have a bad feeling.”

“Always.”

Like a blur, Vax left the room, too fast for Fjord to comprehend. It appeared the interrogation was over. For the first time, Fjord had seen what Vox Machina was like from within, and he hated what he saw. How had heroes fallen so far?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a single chapter which I have split into two. It was getting rather long. I'm not sure if I'm a fan of what it did to the flow, but I think too much transpired for a single chapter. Anyways, the second part should be coming relatively soon.
> 
> As always, I crave your feedback. What do you think of this more Fjord centric section? Are you enjoying all the Vox Machina time in this chapter?


	17. Provoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord attempts to apply some of Uk'otoa's teachings.

Percy’s airship pushed on to its destination, cutting through the skies of Tal’Dorei on its way to Whitestone. Within the windowed room in its bow, only two members of Vox Machina remained. Percy sat cross-legged on his throne of a chair, Grog looming beside him, always the bodyguard. Clouds streamed by on either side, the massive window marked by a single bloodstain—still drying.

Fjord was beaten, humiliated, and fuming. Beau looked no better, restrained by four of Percy’s soldiers. She stared pointedly at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Percy said. “Maybe things between us don’t need to be so difficult after all.”

Out the window, the outline of another airship was visible through the clouds.

 “Does that mean you’re going to let me out of these cuffs?” Fjord asked.

“I’m afraid not. In fact…” he turned his attention to the guards. “Take them back down below, and Grog, keep an eye on them. Vax’s anxieties are sometimes correct.”

As they were dragged back through the metallic bowels of the airship, Fjord—aware that Beau was somewhere behind him—hissed, “why? Why’d you have to go and do that?”

“We’re alive, aren’t we?” Beau growled back. “If we’d died in that room then there would have been no opportunities. We can still fight. There’s still hope.”

“Don’t worry,” Grog chimed in, patting Fjord on the back hard enough that he tripped, “we’ll beat that out of her soon enough.”

When Fjord was shoved back into the familiar cell, Beau was dragged further down the hallway, so far he could no longer hear the clinking of her manacles. Grog remained, leaning on the opposite wall and studying him.

“Where’s Scanlan at?” Fjord asked, yanking at the chains that attached him to the back of the cell, more out of boredom than anything else. “He was a good conversationalist.”

“Dunno,” the goliath grunted, continue to study Fjord with the same level of intensity he would probably require to add two numbers together.

The serpent wriggled in Fjords brain, much like the frustration he felt at himself. Percy, Vax, Grog, none of them had any respect for him. He was nothing to them. A child. But they were wrong. They were no better than him! No stronger! No more ruthless! He’d make them see. Fjord was no idiot. Percy had underestimated him, and he was going to prove it. Vox Machina had made a deadly mistake.

Uk’otoa’s teaching echoed in Fjord’s head like a mantra.

“It’s such a shame,” Fjord said, with exaggerated sadness.

Grog stared at him.

“That I’m goin’ to go out as Percy’s plaything instead of like we’re supposed to.”

“What?” Grog’s face scrunched in confusion.

“Well that’s the reason we’re here, ain’t it? Each of us to fight one of you? We never got our fight. Not properly, at least.”

“Wouldn’t have been much of a fight.” Grog crossed his arms across his chest, puffing it out.

“You say that, but we’re never going to be able to find out for sure, are we?”

Grog did not hide his emotions well and was currently projecting a potent mix of annoyance and curiosity. _Provoke._

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Fjord, “I was disappointed too, you know? You and me? What the hell does that say about me, right? Mollymauk was the first one to find out which one of ya’ll was his problem. And of course we all pretended like we pity him, like there ain’t something powerful about his sharing some connection with the demon king of Exandria.” Grog took a step towards the cell, teeth bared. Fjord continued, gaining momentum. “Then they asked if I had any hunches about my counterpart, and I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to admit my double was his braindead bodyguard.”

The bars creaked as Grog’s body collided with them. Fjord pushed himself against the back wall, just out of the reach of his sausage-sized fingers.

“Come a little closer to the bars and say that again.” He growled, face stretched into a half-rotten grin.

“Does it make you feel big? Beatin’ up on chained men without any of their powers? I’m embarrassed to be associated with you.”

Fjord saw the fog of rage beginning to descend over Grog’s eyes. He had to finish this, quickly, or he’d be dead before he could have his collar removed. He wasn’t so stupid as to think something like metal bars could stop the goliath.

“I could break you in half, even with your _magic._ ” Grog spat.

An involuntary smile curled across Fjord’s face. “Then prove it. If you’re so damn sure, let me out. Let’s make this a fair fight.”

For a moment, Grog faltered, rage retreating a little. “I’m not just going to let you out. You’ll just teleport away. No mage’s ever cared about a fair fight.”

Making sure his voice was obviously condescending, Fjord said, “you think if I could teleport I would’a stuck around in that shitshow of a fight? I would’a grabbed my friends and gone. No. Even you ain’t that stupid. You’re afraid to fight me.”

Grog snorted, taking a step back from the bars. “I’m not afraid of _you,_ little man.”

He was showing a remarkable amount of restraint, and it occurred to Fjord that he might have underestimated Grog a little. Still, this was a battle of wits, and Fjord prepared his killing blow, taking a moment to thank Scanlan Shorthalt for the powerful words he’d lent him.

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering,” he said, front lip curling back in disgust. “You couldn’t let me out even if you wanted to. They don’t even trust you with the keys. Face it. You’re nothing but King Percival’s rabid guard dog. He throws you people he’s done with, like bad meat, so that you have something to tear apart. You’re the bitch of both him and that sword.”

And there it was. Grog snarled, lunging at the bars a second time, and this time the metal crumpled under his grip. “Alright! Then let’s do this… Fjord.”

Fjord stood still in the centre of his cell as Grog bent the bars, so furious he tore some out altogether, hurling them down the hallway. The metal around them groaned and creaked, so loud Fjord was worried that someone would hear. The gauntlets Grog wore pulsed with a strange light, so dim it was almost invisible, but steady in its rhythm like a heartbeat. By the time he’d created a large enough hole for Fjord to step through, the veins on his arms and neck bulged grotesquely.

It took every ounce of self-control Fjord possessed, but he stood still as Grog stuck a meaty arm into the cell. Against every animal instinct, he did not flinch, exposing his neck, and the collar around it.

“Get me out of this and we’ll do this the way it’s meant to be done.”

Fjord stared right at him as Grog crushed the metal band. It tightened and cut into his neck, but Fjord refused to look away, refused to wince. Then, there was a snap, and the collar fell to the floor at his feet. Relief washed over Fjord as he attempted to summon magic. It didn’t matter what, he just wanted to feel it again, but nothing happened. Fjord’s heartrate increased as he battled anxiety. Had Uk'otoa manipulated him into this situation only to abandon him, like some twisted practical joke?

Silently, Fjord presented Grog with the shackles on his arms. While the goliath freed him from those as well, Fjord wracked his brains. How had they taken his magic in the first place? The collar sat at his feet, an innocent strip of metal carved with runes like something Caleb would write in his books. Fjord kicked it, sending it clattering into the corner.

He felt it right away. Unspent magic tingled at his fingertips.

_Good._

The voice in his head was like a vibration, like the hum of the airship.

With a laugh, Fjord tore through what remained of his restraints, then dived for the hole, sliding across the metal so that they stood face to face in this tiniest of rings. He summoned the falchion to his hand, seawater spraying across the floor. The yellow eye glowed, and Fjord felt a tinge of elation to see it again, like it was an old friend.

Grog unsheathed Craven Edge, and the moment stretched, both men wearing cruel smiles. There was an understanding between them in that frozen second, something primal and familiar. Then, it snapped like a beartrap, and they both moved at the same time. Grog lunged forward at the same moment Fjord jumped back, the falchion deflecting the first strike by the much heavier sword.

In a sword fight, Fjord knew he was at a disadvantage, but Grog was handicapped by the size of the hallway. His head hit the ceiling, the walls leaving him no room for a proper swing. Fjord allowed the strikes to drive him backwards, moving down the corridor in the direction the soldiers had dragged Beau. Grog bellowed in frustration as he fought his surroundings as much as Fjord. Craven Edge left deep gashes in the walls of the airship, cutting through insolation and pipes. Hot steam rushed out from several places as they progressed, screaming as the pressure released, leaving burns on Fjord’s arms as he dodged and deflected, always dancing backwards. He attempted to get a few strikes in, but mostly Fjord was focusing on staying ahead of the rampaging goliath.

Frustration only mounting, Grog resorted to lashing out at Fjord with his fists. Fjord did manage to cut a deep gash into one of his knuckles, but another strike managed to connect with the strength of a battering ram. Fjord felt ribs crack. Grog was destroying the ship around him, tearing out chunks of pipe and prison bars, seemingly on purpose, as if angry at them for deigning to obstruct his movement.

Focusing on the feel of the falchion in his hand, the power it imbued him with, Fjord prepared himself for if one of his strikes did manage to connect. Grog would pay for underestimating him. It wasn’t long before blade met flesh, as Grog’s frenzied fighting style did not seem to prioritize defence. The falchion cut into the side of Grog’s chest and Fjord smote him with the wrath of Uk’otoa. He felt the strength of the power flowing through him. It was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was the kind of power that turned men to dust in an instant.

It was worth any price.

The Eldritch Smite detonated with the wrath of a black powder keg. The shock wave blew outwards, denting the walls. Where the sword met Grog’s body his flesh was blown apart by pure force. It knocked him flat on his ass, leaving a cartoonish wound in the side of his ribcage, like a puzzle piece was missing. Where there had once been bone, flesh, and muscle now there was nothing but air. Grog screamed in anger and pain, and Fjord took off running, trying to put as much space between him and the goliath as possible. That single strike had taken a massive section out of his power reserves, and he knew he didn’t have many more like that left in him.

Up ahead the hall began to curve, gradual but enough to obstruct visibility. Suddenly three soldiers came running into view. They were yelling, leveling rifles. Fjord couldn’t stop; had to go through.

Behind him, Grog’s laughter boomed, manic and animalistic. “Looks like this is going to be fun after all! I’ll be honored to kill you, Fjord!”

From the hilt of his sword, Fjord fired four beams of eldritch energy. They collided with the soldiers, only one of whom fell. It didn’t matter. Using his momentum, Fjord slid across the floor, ducking under arms and between legs. A downward stabbing rapier cut deep into his shoulder, but through the adrenaline he barely felt it. He slashed backwards with his falchion as he took off running again, not even looking. He heard another body hit the floor but took a bullet to the back in return. It didn’t pierce the armour, leaving no more than a bruise.

Grog’s thunderous footsteps were gaining, as well as the shouts as the remaining soldier attempted to get out of the way. There, up ahead, two more soldiers stared down their barrels. They were guarding something.

“Beau!” he yelled, breathless.

“Fjord!” The answer was sweet relief. “What the fuck?”

Of the two bullets that were fired towards him, only one connected, cutting a gash into his thigh.

“Running away?” Grog bellowed. “But things just got good!”

Fjord impaled one of the guards straight through, using the weight of the other man’s body to dissipate his momentum. The sword stopped at the hilt. Swinging the first soldier into the second soldier, Fjord shoved them out of the way. Beau was as close to the door as her chains would allow, straining against them.

Through the bars, Fjord fired his four beams. He couldn’t free Beau as elegantly as Grog had freed him, but he did hit the chains in all the relevant places. Her hands were separated and detached from the wall, though chains still dangled.

There was no time to attempt the lock, for Grog had reached him. Fjord tried to dodge out of the way, but he was too slow. The greatsword cut a gash across his chest. It was a massive, jagged thing that seemed to seep shadow, and as Fjord’s blood met the blade it disappeared as if pulled into the onyx void. All Fjord could do was attempt to angle his body so that Grog’s next attack might strike the cell door. By some miracle, it worked, and while the blade did draw blood on its next swing, its momentum carried it past Fjord and into the lock.

The metal contorted like it was nothing. While Grog struggled to free Craven Edge from where it was jammed between the bars, Fjord used the opportunity to blast away what remained of the lock. Beau had been waiting, throwing her weight against the door. Grogs bulk blocked its swing but, with Fjord’s help, she managed to slip out into the hall. Metal bars creaked and broke, Craven Edge free once more. Grog loomed over them, practically foaming at the mouth. There was no time to run, but Beau had always been faster than him.

She released a flurry of lightning fast strikes, hitting a pattern of points up Grog’s chest and neck. He roared, slamming her into the wall. The air was knocked out of her in a harsh gasp, but in that same moment, Grog’s muscles began to lock in place. At least for the moment, she had turned his own body against him. Veins bulged in Grogs arms as he struggled to overcome what Beau had done to his pressure points. His eyes were bloodshot, focused on her and nothing else.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Beau’s words were unnecessary as Fjord was already running. He knew he shouldn’t overextend himself. His new powers weren’t limitless, but there was a certain point at which it was now or never. Fjord slid to a stop, ignoring Beau’s protests, and slammed his falchion down in the centre of the hall.

There was a crack of thunder and the passage shattered. The not inconsequential amount of damage did little to slow the raging goliath, but the pit that opened below his feet did the trick. Metal dissolved to dust, steam blasting out in all directions as the pipes ceased to exist. Then it was promptly sucked out of the ship, along with the rest of the air in the hallway, as the spell breached the hull. In retrospect, Fjord realized he should have seen this coming, but in the moment, he was taken so off guard that he would have been pulled out through the hole if Beau hadn’t grabbed him by the back of his armour. She had a firm grip on the prison bars, and he regained his footing. She gestured excitedly to the passage ahead.

“I think we’re almost to the back of the ship,” she shouted over the rushing of the wind.

She appeared to be correct. Another stairwell lay only a few cells away.

“Great!” Fjord began to make his way towards it as strips of metal peeled off the wall, being sucked out into oblivion. “Then what?”

“You broke me out! I assumed you were the one with the plan!”

“Uh…”

A loud groaning sound came from behind them, originating from the hole in the floor. A jolt of power ran up Fjord’s arm, from the falchion, like an answer.

“I think this is one of those, kill our way out type situations.” Fjord said, stopping in the doorway and facing back down the hall.

Beau only nodded, falling into a fighting stance beside him. The enclosed space had aided them so far, it made no sense to leave it.

The groaning of the metal increased, and a massive hand appeared at the edge of the pit. Grog was large, but he was nowhere near this large; or, at least, he hadn’t been previously. The figure that hauled themselves up over the lip was the size of a full-blooded giant.

For someone who had taken so much damage, Grog still radiated rabid excitement. “You broke it first! That means Percy can’t get pissed at me for trashin’ his airship.”

Twice this normal size, Grog got to his feet. Having previously been too large for the hallway, now he took the ceiling with him as he did so. With seemingly no effort, he tore through the metal like it was paper, splitting the upper corridor in two all the way to the stairs.

Fjord released a barrage of eldritch blasts as Grog began to make his way towards them, opening the hole in the airship larger as he did so, seemingly unbothered by the strength of the wind. Beau moved forward, placing her body between him and Grog. She had been stripped of her weapons, but it wasn’t like Beau needed them. Another volley of eldritch blasts was fired from the hilt of the falchion. They were powerful enough to put holes through the metal walls but did little to slow Grog’s advancement. Beau didn’t look concerned. On the contrary, she looked at peace, her breathing deep and even.

He was almost upon them. Then, Beau vanished. _That was a new one._ She’d left him as the only target. Suddenly without a buffer, Fjord lunged forward, aiming a strike at Grog’s upper thigh. But he was forced to dodge out of the way to avoid Craven Edge. Fjord braced himself to deflect a heavy blow, but it never came. Instead, Grog let out a strangled sound, stumbling backwards away from him. Around his neck, the imprint of an invisible chain was visible. Beau was using what remained of her restraints, looping them securely around Grog’s windpipe. The goliath choked and sputtered, swatting at the air, and thrashing in a desperate attempt to dislodge her.

A gunshot rang out, audible even over the rushing of the wind. Beau yelped and suddenly there was blood on the ground, coming into existence as it splattered. There, on the outside of the airship, Percy stood horizontally. The rushing air pulled his cloak and jacket straight out behind him, but the grip of his boots stayed firm as he leveled the sniper rifle for another shot.

“The stairs!” Fjord yelled. “We need cover!”

He lunged for the door, half torn out of its frame from when Grog had ripped apart the ceiling. But he wasn’t quite fast enough as a massive hand grabbed the back of his armour. Holding him off the ground, Grog slammed him through what remained of the wall. His charge carried him to the other side of the stairwell, where Fjord was pinned in place, this wall holding better than the previous. Fjord was bleeding a lot, a disturbing amount of which was from his head. The air had been knocked out of him, and he struggled to maintain his grip on reality.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear gunshots, and Percy’s voice yelling something he could not make out. Fjord did eventually manage to break Grog’s grip, but he was barely standing. Grog was heavily damaged as well, but where it had weakened Fjord, it seemed to only make him more ferocious. As they fought, Fjord being forced slowly up the stairs, he was focusing so hard on deflecting and dodging he couldn’t get in a strike or summon a spell.

Then suddenly Grog was taking hits, spinning around in an attempt to ward off his invisible assailant. And though he could not see her, Fjord knew Beau was with him. If only he could harness some of that powerful calm and focus she seemed to exude, maybe he could make it through this. With Grog busy attempting to deflect Beau’s barrage of blows, Fjord stumbled up to the first landing. With a moment to concentrate, he reached inside himself for magic, something powerful. Uk’otoa reached back, the answer slithering into his brain. He could feel how powerful this gift was, knew he would only get one shot.

Screaming a desperate battle cry, Fjord thrust the falchion forward. A beam of pure death shot from the yellow eye in the hilt, aimed for the back of Grog’s head. If this was enough to send the goliath to his grave, Fjord would not let him die. He would rise again, not a flimsy spectre, but an undead of flesh and blood who served Fjord without question. And together they would rip Percival into such little pieces even Vax’ildan wouldn’t be able to put him back together again.

The beam collided, and Grog roared as noxious black veins crawled across his pale skin. He shook, pounding the ground as his body fought the magic. He was inches from death. Fjord could feel it. It was almost enough, it had to be enough. But with another cry that was more beast than man, Grog shook off the spell’s effect, turning to face Fjord with bloodlust in his eyes. A hand shot out, catching Beau’s invisible fist without even looking. He shoved her away, and Fjord knew where she was from the sound it made when she hit the banister.

Grog leaned heavily against the wall, still reeling from Fjord’s spell, but before either of them could capitalize upon this, Percy made his presence known. He was halfway up to the ceiling, those boots of his always keeping him conveniently out of the reach of melee combatants. He fired two shots from his rifle, and for a moment Fjord thought it was over. Beau’s invisibility faded at just the right moment to allow Fjord to watch her snatch both speeding bullets out of the air. She flung them to the sides dismissively.

“Shit,” Percy commented, almost impressed.

Then he pulled out his pepperbox and took several more shots. Like it was a dance, Beau caught the first bullet between her palms, spinning out of the way of the next. Fjord was not so fleet of foot, and it imbedded in his chest, knocking him onto his back. Spots swam in his vision like yellow eyes. Judging.

“Get up, Fjord!” It was not Uk’otoa’s voice, but Beau’s.

He tried, clutching at his wounds as he struggled to lift his weight. But Grog loomed over him, bad sword raised above his head, swinging down. Fjord knew pain. Then he knew darkness.

Then, he was underwater. Not drowning but sinking. Always sinking. Darkness enveloped him like the comforting arms of an old friend. He sunk faster and faster until it felt less like sinking and more like falling. He plunged through the night sky down towards ground, gods knew how far below. He wanted to scream, but it was like he’d forgotten how. Air rushed by, tugging at his clothes. Around him, like a faint afterimage, the threads of fate tightened.

_See._

The voice echoed, vibrating through the fabric of space itself. It anchored him, and Fjord realized he wasn’t falling. He was floating, still in the inky depths, staring up. Fathoms above, where the surface had to be, he saw fire. It rolled in great burning waves, casting twisting shadows through the water. The inferno was so intense it felt as if the surface world must be all but destroyed, yet barely any heat reached him down here.

_Predict._

A massive yellow eye opened, mere feet from where Fjord hung. He was trapped in the gaze, illuminated in the eerie yellow light.

_Together._

Uk’otoa said the word like a promise. For the first time, standing before this massive leviathan, Fjord did not feel small. He stared into the slit of a pupal, and in the silence, there was understanding between them. Fjord nodded.

At that same moment, his physical body lay unconscious in a pool of blood, hanging half off the twisting remains of a staircase. Nearby Beauregard fought for her life, and for his.

When her Empty Body meditation had faded, Beau had been almost undamaged, but then again, so was Percy. Grog had been so badly hurt she did eventually succeed in taking him down, but if there was one thing Percy was good at—other than being an evil twat—it was staying out of reach. With a running start, she did manage to scale the wall, getting in her first good volley of hits, knocking the gunslinger down to the floor.

The serge of hope this caused was short-lived, however, as black smoke poured out of Percy, surrounding him like armour. Well, there was that, and the line of rifle barrels which emerged on the landing above.

Beau failed.

She did not give up, but she failed all the same. On her knees, body riddled with bullet wounds, Beau stared up the blade of Percy’s rapier. Through the shadows that clung to him, she could see he was smiling. Though there was something about it that seemed forced, like it was for show. He must have read something on her face, for he let it drop away.

“Do it,” Beau snarled up at him. She might die here, but she refused to give him even one pinch of satisfaction.

“No,” he said, absently. “You interest me, Beauregard. The other half to Keyleth… of all people. Not so long ago I would have said I didn’t understand, but now I’m not so sure. I want to understand.”

His foot collided with her chest, and Beau was knocked onto her back. He pressed the heal of his boot into her neck, and Beau didn’t have enough left in her to fight back.

As spots swum in her vision, Beau heard him say, “you’re a mystery, Beauregard, one I intend to solve. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

Then, darkness took her, a combination of asphyxiation and blood loss dragging her into the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with that, we end this detour into Fjord's POV. I love Travis Willingham and this characters, and these last couple chapters were my weird attempt to show that. (also Fjord's playlist.) Next chapter we'll be returning to Molly and Caleb. The next chapter is one I have had planned out for many months. Oh no...
> 
> As always, I love to know what you guys think!


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